You Are My Hero
by NihonBara
Summary: H High School holds a dark secret. The new student Alfred F. Jones discovers that beneath the "victim" exterior of the student president, Arthur, is a cruel force hell-bent on vengeance. One that desires to make Alfred its companion no matter the cost. For within Alfred is a soul that shines brighter and bigger than all others... UKUS Warning: Dark Arthur
1. Chapter 1

**You Are My Hero**

**Summary: **Alfred arrives as a new student to H High and is horrified to find the Bad Touch Trio bullying a boy named Arthur. Alfred vows to be Arthur's hero, but is Arthur really the victim he appears to be? UKUS Warning: _Dark Arthur_

( I'm also going for a much tougher and less emotional Alfred. Not that I don't mind angst-ridden Alfred, but it's been done _so_ much that I decided to go for a decision-oriented Alfred who lives almost more by stoicism. He doesn't become a puddle of emotional goo over every little rough decision. He tries his best and never gives up. He's not the sensitive type so atmosphere sometimes goes right over his head, but that doesn't mean he's a jerk.

I have not fully worked this story out yet so I have not decided if it ends with pairings or not. At this point I'll say its going to be UKUS, but I promise nothing other than a good story. )

A universal rule of high school: Being the new kid sucked.

Which is why Alfred had to be crazy, because he was looking forward to it. New friends, new faces. Sure he'd miss all his awesome buds back at his last school, but being a new kid meant a change. His mom and dad were more sad about moving then he was or so he told himself.

He'd never like being in one place too long anyway and he'd grown up in his last town. He'd been there all his life and had been aching to shake things up anyway. Alfred F. Jones was a dreamer to his core. He kept posters of faraway lands all over his room. Though his dad said he was crazy and his mom said it was impossible, his dream was to be a world-traveling-doctor-explorer-mechanic-software genius.

Truth be told, he was a little down having left all his awesome friends behind, but his parents were all ready feeling blue enough about the move that he didn't want to make them more depressed so he slapped on his best grin and acted like this was the best thing ever.

He'd said it so many times now, he'd almost convinced himself of it too. Which is why when he arrived late, he was grinning as he ran inside. He'd dressed in his favorite leather coat with the number fifty on the back and jeans. He had an American flag-colored backpack slung over his shoulder and was just finishing scarfing a breakfast burger in his mouth.

_Just got drop by administration and then it's off to class_, he told himself, already planning his excuse for being tardy. So immersed in his thoughts, he never saw the boy as he turned the corner until he collided smack into him, knocking them both back. Papers in the other boy's arms when scattering everywhere.

"Ah, geez," he said, jumping up, hurriedly gathering the paper. "Sorry about that man, I di-." He froze, gaping at the other boy. _Those have to be the biggest eyebrows... ever_. He couldn't believe it. Was this guy Oscar the Grouch's cousin or what? He finally snapped out of it at the boy's reproachful glare and blinking, remarked, "You okay, man?"

The boy's expression softened a bit and he nodded, replying, "I'm quite all right." _British? _He helped collecting papers studying the boy out of the corner of his eye. The guy had a mop of sandy-blonde hair atop his head and wore a grey sweater vest. _And I though my jacket was an antique. _The boy had on a white-button down shirt beneath it and wore brown slacks. _Scratch that. The whole boy is an antique._

Alfred realized he was being stared at by the other rather intently. _He must be pissed_. "Real sorry about that," he said. "I was in a hurry."

"I noticed," the other boy stated curtly, standing up with his documents. "You must be Alfred F. Jones, correct?"

"Oh, does my reputation proceed me?" He chuckled. The other boy smirked ever so slightly.

"You shouldn't run in the hall. It's against the rules," The boy advised.

Alfred shrugged, keeping his grin up, "Yeah, I got it... um what's your name?"

"Oh, my apologies," The boy said, balancing his stack of documents with one arm while he stuck out the other, "My name is Arthur Kirkland. Pleasure to meet you." Alfred had to be just hearing things, because the boy's voice almost sounded demure like... he dismissed the thought. That was just crazy.

"Likewise!" He said, heartily shaking the other boy's hand. He shivered. _Is it cold?_ He wondered. Normally he didn't get cold, but the boy's hand was a little chilly. The boy seemed surprised at Alfred's enthusiastic handshake. "Well see you around!" And then he wove around the boy and fast-walked to the office.

Before he was out of earshot of the other, he heard a faint, "See you around, Alfred."

::::O::::

"Everyone! Everyone!" the teacher, Mr. Roedrich shouted, but the class continued talking over him. "I'd like to introduce a new student." They continued until Alfred walked in. The girls stopped, getting that googly-eyed look that Alfred just loved.

_Ladies, eat up the view_. "Morning fol-," One of his shoes had come untied and he stepped on the lace, spilling forward, he landed splat on the floor. The whole class burst into laughter.

_Crap_! Some jerk at the back was especially loud, but he ignored him. Not one to let a little humiliation destroy him, he bounced back up, dusting himself off as he pushed his glasses back up and laughed, "As I was saying, the name's Alfred F. Jones and it seems I'm the new class clown!" He threw them a thumbs up. "Here to brighten yer day!"

The mocking laughter simmered down transforming into chuckles and low murmurs. A white-haired boy at the back glared at him. _What's his problem?_

"Yes," Mr. Roedrich said, "This is Alfred F.? What does the F. stand for?"

"Would you believe Fantastic?" He laughed, throwing some winks to some pretty girls at the who smiled back. _Ladies love a confident guy_.

"You're Alfred Fantastic Jones?" Mr. Roedrich said, several kids snickered. Alfred was a little stunned the joke went over the guy's head, but oh well. "All right, please take a seat," he said, turning back to the board.

_Geez, would it kill him to smile_, Alfred thought.

Alfred scanned the room and noticed two blonde girls trying to push a particularly nerdy guy to move to the only open seat in the room which happened to be in front of the white-haired boy who had _jackass_ practically stamped to his forehead. The guy wore cut-up jeans, a black T-shirt that read _Eat it! _written in green on the front.

"That's okay, ladies," Alfred grinned, "I'll take that seat!" The nerd sank in relief, but the two blonds in the middle of the class gave Alfred a pouty look as he moved down the aisle and plopped himself in front of the albino dude. He didn't bother looking behind him. He could spot a dickwad from a mile off.

"Way to make an entrance, asshole," the boy whispered behind him. Alfred frowned, tossing the boy a glare over his shoulder. _Bully_. He knew their type well. You had to deal with this type fast or they'd walk all over you.

He pulled out his notebooks and some pens. He started when the Jackass began kicking the back of his chair. Mr. Roedrich never looked away from the blackboard he was writing on. Some of the other students threw Alfred some sympathetic glances but said nothing.

_Assholes must pay_. He set his pen down and shifted in his seat, glaring at Jackass. "Gotta problem?" He hissed.

"Yeah, I do," The other boy muttered. "Some fucktard is blocking my vision."

"Of what? Your boyfriend?"

"Fuck off," the guy hissed, his red-colored eyes narrowing. _Contacts?_ _That can't be natural._ "You gotta lot guts new kid," He muttered, leaning forward. "You might wanna rethink your words before me and my buddies scrub the floors with your face."

"You might wanna watch yer' mouth before I kick your teeth in Casper," He retorted.

"You little-" he snapped, shooting to his feet.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Weilschimdt?" Mr. Roedrich asked, turning around.

"No," Gilbert snarled, sitting back down. When the teacher's back was turned, he said in a low voice, "It'll be fun breaking you."

"Bring it," Alfred whispered. _Damn, I've already started a fight_. His Judo teacher, Kiku, would not be proud.

::::O::::

The jerk it turned out was named Gilbert and he was friends with a group of seniors that called themselves the Bad Touch Trio and they ruled the school. They came for Alfred at lunch while he was putting some stuff in his locker.

If it wasn't for his training, he'd have never seen it coming, but as luck would have it he just heard the screech of the asshole's boot to warn and he ducked to the side, Gilbert's fist smashing a dent in his lock instead.

"Fuck!" the kid cried, holding his self-injured fist. Alfred spun around, finding himself staring at two others. A boy with blonde hair in a pretty frilly outfit and tight-fitting jeans. The other wore cut-up jeans like Gilbert and a shirt with a picture of Spain on it.

"Whatddya want?" Alfred said, crouching down slightly. These guys were pretty brazen picking a fight out in the open. He'd expected them to be more discrete.

"Mon Ami, our friend Gilbert says you were picking on him," The guy smiled and winked. Alfred quirked an eyebrow. _Who is this freak?_

"Your friend there is a lying asshole," Alfred said, trying to keep his eyes on all of them. Three against one. Pretty tough fight.

"Fuck you!" Gilbert snapped.

"What a waste to hurt such a pretty face," The French guy said.

"This _puta madre_ is dead," The Spanish one said.

As luck would have it, Gilbert charged first and he was the worst of them. Alfred threw his back against his locker at the last second and stuck out his foot, tripping Gilbert and sending him crashing into the Spanish one.

"Ano!" The Spanish one cried as he landed on his back with an "oof", trying to shove Gilbert off. Alfred took his chance and pushed himself off the lockers with one foot, sending his fist straight into the French's guy's face. The guy too distracted by his friend's dilemma never saw it coming. He fell back with a smack against the other lockers, his nose bleeding.

Students started forming around them, chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Alfred was now free and backing up, ready to run when the Mr. Roedrich appeared, worming through the crowd.

"What is going on here?" He snapped, seeing Francis pinching his bleeding nose. Upon seeing the teacher, Gilbert and the Spanish boy collapsed, holding their guts and moaning about how hurt they were.

"He beat us up!" Gilbert said, pointing at Alfred.

"I did not!" Alfred said, "They came after me!"

"Who hit first?" Mr. Roedrich demanded, looking at the other students who the Bad Touch Trio glared at warningly. The students reluctantly pointed at Alfred who grit his teeth at the unfairness. "Mr. Jones, you will accompany me at once to the Principal's office."

"But I was defending myself!" He protested.

"Now!" Mr. Roedrich ordered. Alfred huffed and walked by, seeing the way Gilbert smirked and winked at him. _Asshole_.

::::O::::

H High was just giving Alfred a new reason to hate it every hour. From teachers who didn't give a damn to prevalent bullying and now this. He was being PUNISHED for having hit first. Who gave a damn that they provoked him and tried to hit him first. No, he was to be punished. The Trio was getting off scott-free while Alfred rotted in detention for a whole month.

_No Judo classes_, he thought miserably and he would be sent home with a note.

What kind of school was this where they didn't bother looking into the facts? Were they blind to the fact that those three were well-known bullies or were they just cowards? Either way it pissed him off.

"I am very disappointed in you," Said the principal, Mr. Ludwig Weilschimdt. _That name is kinda familiar._ He was sure he'd heard it somewhere before but he couldn't place it. "I expected better. You have really great marks in your previous school and your teachers heaped on praise."

_Yeah, but they didn't turn a blind eye to bullies_, Alfred retorted mentally, keeping his arms crossed. _They did this thing called investigating. You know, figuring out what actually happened._

But that wasn't even the strangest part of this meeting. It was the fact that in the seat next to him was none other than that Arthur Kirkland kid from before. Turns out he was the Student Council President.

_Is it normal for the Student Council President to sit in on stuff like this_? Alfred wondered.

"Sir, if I might add something," Arthur said, catching Alfred's eye. He had an expression of _don't worry._ "Maybe you're being too harsh. Perhaps they did provoke Mr. Jones here first."

The principal kept his angry expression but seemed to stiffen. "What do you suggest?"

"Why not let him off with a warning this time? I will take responsibility for his behavior until he has adjusted to things here," Arthur answered. Alfred blinked stunned at his turn of events.

Even more shocked when the Principal agreed. _What the hell?_

_::::O::::_

_What just happened?_

Alfred walked fast, trying to grasp how Arthur Kirkland had done that. Arthur struggled to keep up, but stayed at his side. He spared the boy a few sideways glances and finally slowed, asking, "So, are you connected to the mafia or what?"

"How do you mean?" Arthur inquired.

"I mean how did you do that?" Alfred said, stopping and facing him. "What did you do save the Principal's life or something?"

"He merely trusts my judgement," Arthur answered, looking shyly away. A faint pink to his cheeks. _Is he embarrassed about that or something? "_That's all."

"I'll say," Alfred said with a little whistle, he yanked Arthur into a short, one-handed hug, laughing, "Nevertheless, major gratz! Like your the first one to take my side in the whole mess." He let Arthur go who seemed to blush even deeper. _What is up with this boy?_

"It was my pleasure," The boy smiled and if Alfred wasn't mistaken there was almost a sultry tone to his words. _Nah, that's nuts_! He shook the thought away. "Those three have quite a reputation. You're the first to openly stand up to them."

"You have to stand up to bullies or they'll pummel you down," Alfred replied. "I didn't want to fight, but I'm not gonna take their crap."

"You aren't scared?" The boy said, it was almost a whisper. His green eyes rose and there was almost a desperation to them.

"Of them, pffft," He snorted, unconsciously taking a step back from Arthur. "I'm not scared of no one."

"That's anyone."

"Whatever! I'm the hero and I stand up to bullies!" He said, jerking a thumb at his chest. Arthur stared at him, that needy look now all over his face. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes," Arthur said, touching his head, he stared back at the floor. "I've just never met anyone as brave as you. Are you new in town?"

"Yup."

"Are you free this evening?" The boy asked, again keeping his eyes to the linoleum. "I'd like to show you around. You could even visit my home. I have many things to show you."

"Uh, this evening?" Alfred said, removing his hand, he rubbed at his arm, "Bad news. I got Judo practice. Sorry dude."

"What about tomorrow or Saturday?" the boy asked, watching Alfred out of the corner of his eye. Alfred didn't know why but for some reason he didn't feel comfortable visiting Arthur's home. The guy seemed okay, but there was just something... _off_ about him. Almost desperate.

"I'll think about it," Alfred said, grinning, "Let me get back to you. But I really don't want to trouble you."

"It wouldn't trouble me at all," Arthur insisted, but Alfred kept shaking his head and making reasons he couldn't. Something in him felt unnerved by Arthur but he blamed it on first day jitters.

::::O::::

Up on the roof of the school, Matthew smoked a drag while watching the sun set. It looked like an over-easy egg, its yolk ruptured and bleeding out onto the horizon. Up here in this solitude he could sometimes forget what his life had become. The things he had done.

"Slave," came a bone-chilling voice, one that always made his skin crawl no matter how many time he heard it. Dropping his smoke, he crushed with the toe of his shoe and shut his eyes, falling to one knee as he turned around. "Master," he said, "It is an honor to serve."

"My dear boy," the silky voice cooed, "I have a task for you."

"You have but to ask, my Lord."

"Do you know the one named Alfred F. Jones?"

"Yes, the new kid," He said, bitterly. _The jerk who trounced my Trio_. "I know him."

"I have my eye on him." _Poor bastard_, Matthew thought.

"Shall the Trio and I approach him then?"

"No," his Master answered, "He would only refuse. He's too much of a _hero_. If he is to serve _me_, we'll have to break him first."

Matthew stiffened as his Master's cold hand touched his head, weaving those cruel fingers through his locks. He knew better than to flinch, but he couldn't stop himself from shivering.

"He will serve me in time," the Master continued, "Listen carefully, worm, and obey _exactly_. For I will have Alfred F. Jones by my side."

"Yes, Master, it shall be so," Matthew agreed. He listened to everything and when the Master was done and gone, he vomited up his lunch. He hated when the Master touched him.

_Don't think about it_, he warned himself. It was best not to dwell on past mistakes. If he was to survive, he would do as he was told. He belonged to the Master now and very soon so would Alfred F. Jones.

TO BE CONTINUED...

(Sorry you'll have to wait on updates for this one. My main focus is updating "The Lord of Winter")


	2. Bait

**Chapter Two**

**Bait**

Alfred was a block from school when he spotted three boys drag a smaller one into an alley. Even from this distance he knew who those three jerks were.

"Damn," He cursed, pedaling hard until he arrived at the mouth of the trash-strewn alley just in time to see "Casper" wham his fist into Arthur's gut. Arthur doubled-over, but was held up by the other two.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Alfred shouted, throwing his bike down as he stomped toward them.

"Well, well if isn't the faggot friend," Gilbert chuckled, yanking Arthur up by the hair with one hand, he grinned at Alfred, and slammed another blow into Arthur.

"You!" Alfred said, his hands curling into fists, he eyed the alley, spotting a weapon. An empty wine bottle.

"Al...Alfred?" Arthur gasped, his head shaking as he lifted his face up.

"Let him go!"

"Gonna make us, dickweed?" Gilbert snarled, pumping his fist in his palm. The others released Arthur and he fell like a sack of potatoes as they approached Alfred.

"Guess so," Alfred said, grabbing the bottle, he smashed its bottom on the brick wall and held up the jagged edge toward the boys.

"Holy shit!" Gilbert yelled, jumping back. The others looked equally uncertain. "Are you nuts?"

"Three against one? I'd be crazy not to even the odds," Alfred answered and grinned.

"You're fuckin' insane!" Gilbert accused, "You know what? Keep your butt-boy! We don't give a shit. C'mon," He grunted to the others and they all shot Alfred a glare before they left through the other end of the alley.

_That was easy_. Alfred tossed the bottle aside and it shattered on the wall. "Artie, man, you okay?" He said hurrying over to the huddled up Arthur who was clutching his stomach.

"Could...be...better," He wheezed, his eyes watering up. The moment Alfred crouched beside him, Arthur rested his forehead on Alfred's shoulder. His other hand snaked between the half-open front of Alfred's jacket and grabbed the front of Alfred's shirt.

Alfred cleared his throat, a little, no very uncomfortable at the sudden intimacy. _He's just a little freaked out is all_. Alfred sat down beside Arthur who did not let go, but splayed his hands across Alfred's chest as if trying to press through the thin material.

"Um, Artie?" Alfred said as Arthur leaned further onto him. "It's okay man."

"Th-they always...pick on me," Arthur sniffed, burying his face in Alfred's shoulder.

"How long has that been going on?" Alfred asked.

"Since I first arrived," Arthur confessed, nuzzling his nose against Alfred's shoulder. It grew more disquieting as Arthur's nose grazed the space between Alfred's neck and collar. He stiffened; Arthur's warm breath touching his skin. _Stop it_, he wanted to say.

"And you didn't report them?"

"You saw how this school is. No one cares," Arthur whispered, his eyes raising up to Alfred's and in a low, almost husky, voice he added, "Except you."

"A-Artie," Alfred stammered, scooting away, unable to take it anymore. Arthur's hands remained on his chest though, clutching at his shirt, the boy's lips just at Alfred's upper arm. "You need to report this. It's not okay."

"I c-can't," Arthur whined, looking away, his eyes moistening up again, "I might lose my University scholarship."

"What?" Alfred said, rounding on him. "What kind of school would drop you for _that?_ I wouldn't want to go to such a shit college if I were you."

"No, Alfred. Please don't _ruin_ my dream," Arthur pleaded, staring up at Alfred with more than just desperation. _It feels like a prey being sized up by a cat_. Alfred banished the thought. "Please, please keep this as our little secret."

"But Arti-."

"Please!" Arthur begged, "Promise me you'll tell no one." Arthur pressed forward, closing the distance between their faces. Alfred's breath hitched, the back of his head pressing against the brick wall. "_Promise me_," Arthur said, his tone a tad darker, almost commanding.

Alfred sighed heavily and relented, "Fine. For now we'll play it your way, but if this continues I make no promises."

"There may not be an again if...," Arthur trailed off, backing away, he stared off shyly. "Perhaps that is too much."

"Perhaps what is too much?"

"If," Arthur said, clearing his throat, his gaze locked back onto Alfred's, "If you we could, perhaps, walk to school together. They wouldn't jump me if you were there, especially if they thought we were... friends."

"There's no thinking there," Alfred laughed, ruffling Arthur's hair, "Because we _are_ friends so walking to school together is no problem."

Arthur smiled as Alfred stood up and helped Arthur up, letting Arthur lean against him. "Thank you, Alfred."

"No problem, Artie. I'm your hero after all!" Alfred said with a grin.

o2o

At school, everyone avoided Alfred now. They completely avoided speaking to him no matter what he tried. _Is it because of the Bad Touch Trio?_ This thought pissed him off. Promise or no promise, he couldn't sit by and let this kind of terror continue. He'd have to do something eventually.

He was just popping into the library after school to check out a book on Judo when he heard a voice whisper, "Alfred?"

He looked around to see a blonde girl with green eyes at the end of the shelf aisle, waving for him to follow her. Quirking an eyebrow, he shrugged and went with her to an emptier section. One no one visited: the history section.

"Lily, what's up?" He asked, keeping his voice low. Happy that someone was talking to him, but his mirth quickly faded when Lily asked, "Are you friends with Arthur Kirland?"

"And what if I am?"

Her voiced dropped down again and she warned, "You shouldn't be."

He frowned, not liking where this was going. "And why not?"

"Because," She said, glancing around worriedly, "He's _evil_."

Alfred snorted and then burst out laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach.

"Alfred," She hissed, looking about to panic, "I'm serious."

He straightened up, not bothering to keep his voice down now, "Riiight, because he just radiates _Lord of Darkness_." _But there is something about him_, whispered another part of his mind, one he quickly squashed.

"Alfred, you seem like a nice guy. I don't want you to get hurt," Lily said, twiddling her fingers, "Please, don't get mixed up with him."

"That's sweet, but I can take care of myself," He replied, asking out of curiosity, "What makes you say he's evil."

Lily bit her lip and stared at her feet, shuffling about nervously, "Please just trust me. Stay away from him."

"Just avoid him because you say so?" Alfred said skeptically, "Sorry Lily, I don't roll that way. If this because of those Bad Touch Douches bullying Ar-."

"Bullying Arthur?" She gasped, crinkling her nose, "Nobody bullies A-."

"Lily!" Arthur said, stepping out from behind a bookshelf. "I'd heard you and Alfred were here! It's bee-."

Lily squeaked and dashed off, disappearing out of sight behind another row. She was out of the library within moments.

"Artie, what are you...," Alfred trailed off, noticing how downtrodden Arthur looked. "Do they always do that?"

Arthur nodded, wiping away a couple tears with his sleeve. "It's because the Bad Touch Trio threatens anyone who hangs out with me. You're the first one whose ever had the courage..." Tears began to course down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Alfred."

"S'okay," Alfred said, patting Arthur on the shoulder. "I can take it. I'm tough. Why doesn't anyone do anything?"

"Well, Gilbert's the Principal's cousin."

"Ludwig's?" Alfred gaped. _That explains some things._

"Lily used to be nice to me, but now... well, you saw," He said, eyes downcast.

"You could transfer. You don't have to take this."

"But I've worked so hard for the things I have here. Besides I'll graduate in a few months." Alfred nodded and before he realized it, Arthur's shoulder was pressing against his. The boy gazed up at Alfred, adding, "Besides I have you now."

Alfred swallowed hard, stepping away, "I've gotta go," He muttered, "I'll get my bag. Meet you out front." He took off hastily, feeling Arthur's eyes watch him go.

o3o

Lily couldn't wait to get home. Today had been a bad day. She was just about to enter her parents suburban neighborhood when a hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged into some bushes.

She was blindfolded before she could see who _they_ were, but she knew when their shy leader tsked and said, "Lily, Lily, you've been naughty."

She sobbed and started to bite the hand over her mouth, but froze when a switchblade popped open, its edge touching her throat. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

"You have to be punished I'm afraid. Master's orders," He said in that soft voice. Lily shook her head lightly. "Don't worry. Think of it as a vacation from school."

She was already screaming.

o4o

The next morning when Alfred sat down in class, he overheard some students say, "Did you hear about Lily?"

"No, what happened?"

"She got the flu."

"That's still going around?"

"Apparently, She won't be back for a couple weeks."

"She's got the flu?" Alfred asked, but they quickly turned away and busied themselves with homework. He sighed and rested his chin on his fist. _What's going on?_

(Yay, an update!)


	3. Trap

Chapter 3

"Asshole!" Alfred yelled, ripping Francis off a sobbing Arthur, without thinking he threw the Frenchmen into the desks and instantly wished he could take it back. The Frenchmen flew over a desk and flipped over completely landing on his back with an "oof" as his other foot knocked over a chair.

_Shit!_ Alfred thought, gaping at what he had done. Being possible expelled was the further thing from his mind, it was that he might have just seriously hurt someone. Even if it was the Frenchman, Alfred didn't want to send him to the hospital.

"Dude," he said, torn between helping Arthur who was sitting up, holding his button-down shirt close and seeing if Francis was okay. "Are you okay?"

Francis glared at him and touched his cheek. "My face... my beautiful! You stupid pi-" he began, but shut his mouth, his eyes widening. Alfred glanced at Arthur who for just a moment he swore was glaring darkly at Francis, but maybe that was just the light because Arthur was all concern when Alfred looked.

"Do you need a hospital?" Alfred offered. "Look I was just trying to get you off of him!"

"Mon petit loved it," Francis huffed.

"No, I didn't," Arthur sniffed, wiping the tears off his cheeks. "H-he tried-d to..." He stammered off.

"It's okay," Alfred said almost falling over when Arthur flung himself against Alfred's chest. "Wow, Artie."

Francis touched his bloody lip and clutched at his sides. His face clouded with rage. "I will sue you into oblivion amerique!" he laughed haughtily.

"You were the one forcing yourself on Artie! It was lucky I just caught you dragging him in here," Alfred defended. "You try and sue me and let's see how they feel about attempted rape."

"He consented."

"N-no, like bloody hell I did!" Arthur insisted, clinging tight to Alfred. "Please believe me. He grabbed me."

"I believe you man," Alfred said. Francis sniffed and Alfred glared at him.

"As if anyone would believe _you_," Francis said.

"They will believe him," Arthur said, his eyes narrowing on the Frenchmen. "If you try to get Alfred in any trouble, I will not stay silent. Do you understand?"

"Artie?" Alfred gaped. _But that scholarship you want?_

"You are bluffing," The Frenchmen said, but worry crossed his face. He winced and held his side harder.

Alfred opened his mouth to suggest the nurse's office, but Arthur interrupted, "I will. If you ever threaten Alfred again, I will not be able to stop myself. It's one thing to trouble me, but he stays out of this. Do you understand?"

_Wow, Artie?_ Alfred blinked and he could not see more than the back of Arthur's face from this vantage, but he could see Francis'. He blinked in shock as Francis paled. _Is he that afraid of Arthur's threat?_ Francis swallowed and nodded, without a word he went for the door, all but limping he left.

"Uh, what just happened?" Alfred said, but when Arthur turned back his eyes were all shiny with tears and puffy underneath.

"I was so scared, Alfie," Arthur cried, nuzzling his nose against Alfred's chest. Alfred resisted the urge to push him off. This was too much physical contact.

"I really wish you'd report him," Alfred said, leaning slightly away as Arthur's hands began to creep into some uncomfortable areas like he was testing and seeing how far he could go.

When they were too close to Alfred's butt, he caught Arthur's arms and pulled them off, coaxing the boy into off the seats. "Why don't you relax and take it easy for a bit?" The boy's hand slid over his shirt, almost reluctantly letting go.

"I wish they'd leave me alone," Arthur said, staring at the floor sullenly. "They've been like this ever since they learned I was gay..."

"You're gay?" Alfred gasped.

"You didn't know?" Arthur said, tilting his head. He blushed suddenly and looked away. "I'm so sorry. I thought they had told you by now. Please don't hate me."

_It's not that much of a surprise. _"Dude I don't hate people, especially not for that. I defend all who need it. I'm the hero!_" _He chirped, giving Arthur a hearty clap on the back. "Ah, sorry," He offered as the boy rubbed his shoulder. "Don't know my own strength."

"It's okay," Arthur said, buttoning his shirt up. Alfred frowned, a few buttons were missing. Arthur caught Alfred's look. "I'll sew some back on so it's not a big deal."

"Artie, this is a very big deal. If I hadn't shown up-."

"I'll handle," Arthur cut in, zipping up his fly. "He has never gone so far. I promise and after your performance there. I doubt he will ever try that again."

Alfred sighed, shaking his head. "This is not okay."

"Please keep my secret. Promise you'll tell no one about this," Arthur urged.

"Maybe I won't, but what about Francis."

"Oh, he'll keep quiet," Arthur said dismissively, "Unless he wants me informing the world about this."

"You'd do that?"

"If it came to your reputation, then of course I would," Arthur said, smiling gently. "I'd do anything for you, Alfred."

Alfred rubbed at his nape and laughed lightly, looking away. _That sounded kinda weird._

"Do you promise?"

"Yeah, I guess if the french bastard keeps his quiet. I guess I'll do it to, but I still think it's a bad idea. He could be doing this to others."

"He's not," Arthur said. "Trust me." There was such surety in his voice that Alfred felt a little confused. When one thought about it, the timing of it was very lucky. That Alfred just happened to be leaving school at that particular moment to look down the hall and see Francis drag Arthur in here.

_It's almost like..._ He caught sight of the clock. "Shit the time!" He yelped, turning to grab his backpack off the floor and run, but Arthur caught his wrist. His fingers were cold and his grip almost painful. "Uh, yeah I'll see you halfway to your house," Alfred said, believing that's what Arthur wanted.

"Actually I wanted to come with you to your Judo class," Arthur said, straightening his clothes and standing up.

"Dude, that's not such a good idea. You should go home and get some rest," Alfred said, scanning his mind for more excuses. Judo was his thing and Arthur had already invaded most of his school life. He didn't need the kid in his private life too.

"But if I learned some self-defense techniques I could better defend myself. Please," Arthur said, his expression looking crest-fallen. "Just once. I won't be in the way."

Alfred bit his lip and nodded. "Sure, why not?" He grinned at Arthur.

#

The sun was setting by the time they left school. Alfred wanted to take off on his bike, zipping for the dojo, but Arthur did not have a bike so he was forced to mostly coast. _C'mon, walk fasteri, _he wanted to say.

"They have made my life hell since I arrived," Arthur said suddenly.

"Who? Oh, those three?" Alfred said. "They're jackasses."

"There used to be this senior. Ivan Braginsky." Alfred glanced over his shoulder, but in the late evening shadows he could not see Arthur's face well. There was something in the way he said that name though. The way he twisted it, like it was a curse word instead of a name. His tone sounded far off as he continued, "He was their ringleader back then and he made my life hell."

"But he's graduated now, right?"

Arthur chuckled and said, "Yes, he's gone." Alfred shivered, wondering if it was the cold air. Something sounded off about Arthur's tone, but he could not put his finger on it. "Say Alfie. I just thought of something. Something that would make Francis leave me alone. It's very rude of me to ask thought and I think you wouldn't like it."

"Well, tell me first and I'll let you know," Alfred answered.

"It's embarrassing," Arthur said, clearing his throat. "Please don't hate me, but I just... I want it to stop. It would only be for four months. Until I graduate, but would you... would you..," he trailed off. _Spit out man._ "Be my boyfriend."

His bike tires screeched to a halt. Alfred sat there. His mind went blank, fried by what his mind was trying to process. _Hell no!_ It thought. He swallowed hard, licking his lips as he controlled himself enough to laugh, "Ha, ha, good one man."

"I'm not joking," Arthur replied. His tone very serious. Then came more sniffling. "You're right it was rude of me. I apologize." He sounded broken and distraught.

"Uh..," Alfred said. _He was almost raped_. "You're a cool guy and all, but I can't. I don't swing that way. I mean I'm flattered, but I can't." He forced a smile.

"I only meant for pretend, but I see. I overstepped myself. I apologize. I'm not thinking clearly. I just thought it would make Francis back off."

"Would he respect that?"

"He would," Arthur responded, adding, "He has odd morals, but he never goes for what belongs to another."

"No, I'm sorry," Alfred said, shaking his head. _Even if it's only four months, I could kiss any chance of a girlfriend good-bye._

"I see." Arthur lowered his head and shuffled past Alfred. "I was rude. I hope I can still attend this Judo class with you."

"Of course man," Alfred offered.

#

It was only near the end of Judo class that Alfred started to realize that, despite their mutual smiling, maybe Arthur and Kiku did not like each other at all. In fact, they almost seemed to loath each other.

Kiku-_sensei,_ as Alfred called him, was shorter than both of Arthur and he. Kiku had black hair and brown eyes that were curved up at the end. He had been kind enough to allow Arthur to observe even going over with Alfred to teach Arthur tricks for breaking handholds and wrist locks.

It was right then that Alfred began to noticed it. The air of animosity between the two and within a couple minutes Kiku had excused himself and gone back to the other students.

Alfred turned to follow, but Arthur caught his shoulder. "Could you show me that move again, Alfie?"

"Which one?"

"That one with the thumbs." Alfred glanced over at Kiku and then back to Arthur.

"Sure thing," he said, grabbing Arthur's wrists with both hands, he began, "Now what you want to do is..."

#

"I think your friend has small interest in Judo," Kiku said, approaching Alfred after Arthur stepped out for the restroom.

"He's just new. That's all," Alfred said, rubbing the back of his head.

"That's not what I refer to, Alfred-san," Kiku whispered. "Something is off in his aura. _Be careful_."

Before Alfred could ask more, Arthur returned a look of displeasure flickering over his expression as he saw the two standing together. Kiku retreated to the other side of the room just as Arthur arrived.

"What did he want?" Arthur inquired, all smiles, but it never reached his eyes.

"Ah, nothing much. Just some tips," Alfred lied, laughing it off. "Come on, let's go." He grabbed his backpack and his stuff, throwing his work-out towel over his shoulder as they left.

#

Alfred groaned, rocking from heel to toe on his bike as he waited. Arthur had asked him to wait and then ran off into a convenience store, saying he needed something. Since the Judo was apparently near Arthur's home, Alfred had agreed to see him home. _I hope this isn't a regular occurrence. _

Alfred worried that even his good-nature was getting worn down. He liked his independence too much and someone dictating his every move really wore him down.

"Here you are, my love," Arthur chimed and Alfred flinched, blinking at him. "Ha, it was joke," Arthur chuckled. "Why so serious?"

_Did he just reference the Dark Knight?_ Okay Arthur went up in awesome points for that though Superman would always have a special place in Alfred's heart. An opened coke can was handed to him. He stared at it, raising an eyebrow. "It's open."

"Sorry, I took a sip," Arthur explained, "But it's almost full. I haven't been sick and you must be thirsty. For your troubles."

Alfred took it and leaned back, chugging it down. _God I love coke!_ Finishing it with a smack on his lips, he tossed it toward a nearby waste bin near the store's entrance. "He shoots, he scores!" He chortled. "Let's blow this joint. I gotta get home before my parents kill me."

"Of course," Arthur said and Alfred frowned. _Must be my imagination_. Yet he was sure there had been something sinister in that tone.

"So how do you know Mr. Honda?" Arthur asked in a neutral tone, following along as Alfred coasted on his bike.

"My dad and him are good friends. Kiku-sensei and I were thrilled I could come train with him."

"_Why?_" Arthur asked icily. _He's not jealous?_

Alfred paused, touching his forehead, he felt a little woozy. He shook it off. "Because he's an old friend," Alfred answered. "Why do you think?"

"You told me once that he's gay. Does he like you?"

"Kiku-sensei?" Alfred guffawed, a touch offended. "He's totally not like that! He's no pedo. Why are you saying that?"

"I just asked. No need to be so sensitive," Arthur huffed. "One can never be too careful. You never really know what people are capable of."

"Kiku-sensei is my friend," Alfred replied firmly, "And if you want to stay my friend you'll back off on what you're implying."

Arthur's tone softened and he touched Alfred's sleeve, saying, "I'm sorry, Alfie. I guess I'm not used to having friends. It's new for me."

"'Kay," Alfred said, shrugging him off. He was about to tell Arthur to walk himself the rest of the way, when Alfred's vision blurred and he stumbled, leaning over the basket of his bike.

"Alfie, are you okay?" Arthur asked with concern, holding Alfred's shoulders. "You look ill."

"I'm fine," Alfred said, waving him off. He rolled forward a couple feet and then almost fell off. Dropping the bike, he stumbled and almost fell, but Arthur caught him, hooking Alfred's arm over his shoulder. He felt light-headed and weird. "I think... I need... hospital," he slurred.

"What you need is rest," Arthur said, almost purred as he picked up Alfred's backpack, putting over his other shoulder before leading Alfred forward. "You pushed yourself back there."

"My bike," Alfred protested, trying to pull away, but Arthur was stronger than he suspected, half-dragging a stumbling Alfred forward.

"I'll come back for it. But first you need rest."

"My head is funny...," Alfred mumbled, clutching at it. "My parents..." He fumbled for his phone and no sooner had it out then Arthur took away. "Hey!"

"You're in no condition to text. I'll text them for you. Let them know that you're staying over."

Alfred planted his feet. They wobbled, feeling like jelly, but panic was now working through the haze in his head. "Staying over?" _Like hell. _He starting pulling away, but his strength was almost non-existent. He almost collapsed, but Arthur caught him and held his arm firmly over his shoulders.

"Now, now," Arthur chided, pulling him forward. "No more of that. Just relax. I'll take care of you. That's what friends are for after all."

Things at that point began to skip. For example, Alfred didn't remember walking into Arthur's house or moving through it. He was only aware of the world spinning and those cold hands clamped on his arm and around his waist, pulling him flush against the other. It felt like he was a bird being pulled into a cage.

He stared at the door closing behind him. _No._

Everything blurred. At some point he found himself in a strange dream, lying on a wooden floor, surrounded by a circle of candles. Groaning, he tried to sit up, but two hands pushed him back down.

"Wait, my love," A familiar voice urged. "It's almost over."

_What is? _He wanted to scream, but nothing would come out. His glasses were not on his face and everything was blurry. He gasped when his cold lips touched Alfred's lips. He turned away, forcing the lips to his cheek. _Why can't I move?_

Someone chanted around him and coldness seeped into him seemingly from the floor. He squirmed, trying to resist, but invisible chains forced him back down. "No," he moaned. Those terrible lips came back, kissing his forehead, but this time they didn't feel so bad. Now they felt kind of nice.

_What is happening to me?_

"Now you are mine, love," That icy voice cooed and then Alfred was falling. Falling into a bottomless darkness where green eyes glowed, glittering with malice.

**AN**

Sorry I've been so busy. I've had no time for fanfiction. Not with my other stuff.


	4. Lure

"NO!" Alfred cried, falling out of bed, he landed on the blue carpet with a thud. Blinking, he sat up and looked around. He was in his bedroom - white walls, blue carpet, and red oak bed.

He pinched himself. _How did I get here?_ Weirder yet he was dressed in his white shirt and boxers. _Who undressed me?_ He swallowed, feeling bile rise at the thought that it was Arthur.

"Alfie~" His mother called from downstairs. "Is that you? Are you up?"

"Yeah, mom," he called, slowly standing up, he winced at the pain. His head throbbed. "Hey mom," he said, throwing open his door and rushing to the banister, he saw her staring up at him. She had on a pink dressed and yellow apron. Her blue eyes locked onto his.

"Yes, sweetie?" She asked, quirking a blond eyebrow in amusement. She pursed her lips, her eyes scanning his attire. "What did I say about running around the house like that? And you're hair is all mussy!"

"How did I get home?" He asked, an unnerving feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He could recall bits of things like a mostly unremembered dream, but for the most part it just skipped from drinking a coke with Arthur to being here.

"You don't remember?" She said, looking concerned. "Arthur brought you home. Such a sweet boy."

Alfred's blood ran cold and his hands clenched the oak of the banister. "Arthur?" He said slowly as that name sunk in. "He was here? In our house?"

"Yes, he brought you up to your room and even helped you into your bed."

"He was in my room?" Alfred exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder like his room had been tainted. "How could you?"

"It wasn't that messy and well, isn't he your friend? He seemed so concerned," His mom said, smiling sweetly.

_And you weren't?_ "Mom, what was I like? When I came home?"

She looked to the left, biting her lip in thought, "Well, you seemed very pale and rather drawn. To be honest, I was concerned. I thought about taking you to the hospital, but that Arthur boy reassured me that you were just exhausted. He was so convincing. What a silver-tongue!"

"Mom, if he ever comes here again, don't let him in my room," Alfred said.

"Why not?" She said. "Is there a problem?"

"Just don't," Alfred repeated, sniffing the air. There was a subtly sweet aroma in the air mixed with almost a burnt aroma. It was surely meant to be a delicious smell, but something about it smelled wrong. "Are you cooking?"

"Oh no, those are the scones! Arthur brought them," She said. "Would you like to try one? You're father has already had several."

"No," Alfred said without thinking and suddenly he didn't feel well. He felt very sick like something was pulling him to go down and try them. He shook his head, backing away. "No."

"Alfie, are you sur-."

He ran back into this room and shut the door. A though occurred to him. _I need to call Kiku! Where's my phone?_ He dug around and found his backpack and zipped it open, searching. One thing was for sure, he would not be Arthur Kirkland's hero anymore. In fact, it was time they went their separate ways.

_I'm declaring independence!_ He decided.

He was relieved to find it and popped it open about to search for Kiku's number when his blood ran cold. There was a text from Arthur on his phone that read: _Take care, Alfred. I'll see you soon._

A heart was at the end of it. Suddenly, his stomach clenched tightly and he doubled over, curling into a ball on the floor. His mind flooded with thoughts and wave of heat passed over him as he blushed from head to toe. Sickening images of Arthur in seductive poses overran his mind as if something was trying to force the idea into his head that Arthur was attractive.

"Stop!" He cried, clutching at his temples. Slowly they abated, but never entirely left. "What's happening to me?" He whispered, feeling sweaty and damp. He kept his mind on anything but Arthur.

Slowly as if by sheer exhaustion he fell into another strange dream.

#

_Where am I?_

After a moment, he realized. He was on the rooftop of his school, looking down at the track and field. Someone moved behind him, whirling around, he saw Arthur standing behind.

"You came," Arthur cooed, taking Alfred's hand. Alfred tried to shove him away, but his body seemed paralyzed by Arthur's touch.

"What have you done?" he hissed.

"What I had to to claim what's mine ~" Arthur answered.

"Not interested, got that?"

Arthur chuckled and said, "You will be. You won't have a choice."

_There is always choice_. "What's that mean?"

"You belong to me now. Accept it," Arthur urged, leaning forward until their noses were touching. Alfred knew he should be disgusted, but his body flushed. _What the hell is going on? _ He fought, tried to resist, but he could not move or stop those soft lips from pressing against his.

_No!_ He struggled, pulling deep within himself. He would not be helpless. _STOP!_

Arthur pulled way, resting his other hand on Alfred's shoulder. "I'll never tire of you, my love. You're so delicious."

_Am I gay?_ Alfred had been sure he wasn't until now. His heart sped up. His body reacted to Arthur, but something did not feel right. This did not feel natural. _This is not me!_ Seizing on that, he managed to move and shoved Arthur away who went spilling onto the ground.

Alfred leapt onto the railing, realizing the paralysis would return, but while he could fight it he would end this dream. "I'll never be yours!" He yelled in defiance as Arthur watched him stunned then Alfred threw himself over the side of the building.

The ground rushed at him, wind whistling in his ears.

"No!" He yelled, waking up again on the floor, panting and sweating. _Oh God, what was that?_ It had been so vivid and real. Like he _had _to desire Arthur.

#

Alfred hugged himself, shivering. He pounded again on Kiku's door. It had white paint peeling at the front and looked as old as the porch of Kiku's house.

"One moment" Kiku called. He heard commotion inside and then footsteps before the door swung open. "Alfred?"

"Sorry, Kiku-sensei, but I need your help," Alfred said, coming into the dark oak hallway past a surprised Kiku.

"But the house is not clean," Kiku fretted, but seeing Alfred's pale feature, he urged him into the living room and it's green sofa. "Alfred, you do not look good. Is everything okay?"

"When did you know you were gay?" he blurted out.

Kiku blushed and looked away. "Th-that is a very personal story."

"Sorry," Alfred said, feeling he had crossed a line. He started to stand, but Kiku urged him back down, sitting beside him.

"I first knew when I was thirteen. Yes, that was the age. I realized I was attracted to boys."

"You weren't straight first and then one night you turned gay?"

"No. I do not believe it works that way."

"But it can, right? You can just wake up attracted to a guy right?"

"I do not know. It is different for many people. Alfred, are you attracted to a boy?"

Alfred looked away, running his fingers through is hair, he stood up and paced the room. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't even like him. I dislike him, but now it's crazy. He's on my mind all the time and then I blush. See it's weird. I've never seen guys in that way. Since I was eleven and noticed girls were different, I've just been into the - I mean yanno their looks. But then now it's like - I don't know - I can't look at them without this other image popping in.

It's like he's stuck in my head. What's wrong with me?"

"Al, there's nothing wrong with you. It's okay if y-."

"It's not!" Alfred interrupted and his features softened. "I can't put it right, but it's not like that. If it was just me denying I was gay that'd be one thing. But this isn't the same. I know I wasn't attracted to men! Now suddenly all I want is this boy. How did that happen? How can you be attracted to one person?"

Kiku smiled, "Love is blind. If you love him, does it matter what he looks like?"

"No, kiku-sensei, you're not getting it. This isn't... something isn't right!" Alfred insisted. "It doesn't feel real!"

"May I ask who is this boy?" Kiku said, smiling.

"You met him already. He came to Judo with me," Alfred answered.

Kiku's smile dropped off and worry filled his features. "Do you mean Arthur?"

Alfred nodded. "And I know I was interested in him before. Now suddenly I want him and it feels wrong. Unnatural."

"Tell me everything, Alfred," Kiku offered. "When did you noticed this attraction?"

#

"Let's keep this between us for now," Kiku said as Alfred waved good-bye.

"But you believe me, right?" Alfred begged desperately. "I'm not crazy. Something is wrong here."

"I think something is suspicious," Kiku said. "I will talk to some of my friends and ask them their stories. Do not do anything rash until we speak again. Okay Al?"

"Sure, Kiku-sensei," Alfred agreed, waving good-bye.

#

Alfred was just reaching the end of the block when a boy stepped out in front of him. "Jesus," He cried, almost veering into a lamp post. His bike screeched to a halt and he turned to see Arthur standing there. His blood ran cold.

"Alfred, what a coincidence! I was just returning home."

"Like hell you were," Alfred growled. "What the hell are you doing here? Don't give me that bull crap about coincidence."

"Alfie, I don'-."

"Don't call me Alfie!" He warned, moving his bike, ready to take off if Arthur got any closer, but the boy just stood there, smiling.

"You don't have to be ashamed of these feelings. They are nat-."

"They are not! Don't act like you know what I should be feeling! You don't know me and you certainly don't own me."

"I'm really hurt you would say that," Arthur replied, lowering his head. "I just wanted to be your friend."

"I don't know what you did, but I do know this isn't normal. Did you drug that coke or something? Put something in it that would make me see you like this?"

"Alfred, there's no such drug," Arthur explained. "You shouldn't avoid me. We can figure this out together."

"Like hell we can! Just stay away from me!" Alfred said.

"I don't know if I can," Arthur warned, raising his nose higher and staring at Alfred sideways. "You're such a beautiful boy after all."

Alfred wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You're nuts."

Arthur chuckled, "What were you discussing with Kiku?"

"Are you spying on me?" Alfred gasped, looking in the direction of Kiku's. "Well guess what I don't give a damn about some scholarship so if you don't leave me alone I won't be quiet. That clear?"

"Crystal," Arthur said, but the smile never left his features. Alfred shivered and took off, keeping his eyes on Arthur as much as possible as he sped off. But not before he heard Arthur call, "See you tomorrow, Alfie ~."

_Kid's got a few screws loose._

As he rode, he felt that gaze following him.


	5. Snare

Chapter 5

Snare

Alfred arrived early to H High, jumping at every shadow or gust of the breeze, sure Arthur would pop out at any moment. He parked his bike at the biking area at the back of the school and then ran around to the front, not wanting to see the student president even if a part of him did.

_It's a lie!_ He tried to keep his mind occupied with other things like hamburgers, because if it settled on Arthur too long he would blush and find this urge to give in and just go find the boy.

The flagstone steps leading up to the double doors of the school were empty except for a girl in jeans with a pink top walking up them. He stuffed his hands in the pocket of his brown jacket and was going to rush inside when the girl tripped.

"Oof", he heard and watched her fall onto the steps her binder and the papers she'd been clutching fluttered everywhere. Without thinking, he rushed over, catching papers everywhere. "Oh crap," she muttered, flashing him a weak smile as they rounded them up.

He paused, helping her gather them all up, even chasing a couple to the bottom of the steps. "Here you go," he said, handing them over.

"Thanks," She said, smiling. She had auburn hair that fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were brown and dimples formed on her cheeks when she smiled. "I'm Susan." She offered her hand.

"Nice to meet ya," he said, taking it and shaking it. He frowned a little as Arthur's image tried to force itself back in his head.

"I'm new here, so it's great to meet someone," she said.

_New girl. No wonder I haven't seen her before_. An idea struck him. A way to maybe get Arthur out of his head. He grinned and offered to help Susan.

_Time to make a real friend_.

#

It turned out Susan was in his class. He couldn't have been more happy because she was really nice. Alfred made it his mission as a hero to show her around. People began to whisper and giggle, but he blew them off. Susan was nice.

It was during lunch though when he went off to the bathroom and had just entered when he felt a chill down his spine.

"Alfie~" came a voice behind him. He whirled around to see Arthur standing there, shutting the bathroom door. His body warmed at just the sight of Arthur, but he chased those thoughts away thinking of nasty things. Truly repulsive stuff like broccoli and spinach.

"Were you standing behind it?" He said incredulously. Holding his hand to neck he said, "You were here one the creepy," and then he held the hand as far above his head as he could, "Now you're here."

"Are you avoiding me?" Arthur asked, his face looking hurt. "I thought you were my hero."

"I was," Alfred replied, holding his ground when Arthur took a step forward. He curled his hands into fists. Arthur seemed to sense the warning and folded his arms in front of his chest.

"I see you made a new friend," Arthur said, "Susan I believe."

"Yeah, so?" Alfred growled. "I can have friends."

"You're not planning to date her, are you?" Arthur said, a dark look flashing in his eyes. Before Alfred could answer, the door opened and Arthur stepped aside as two seniors entered, laughing and chatting about something.

"Man I gotta pee," one said, pushing past Alfred who took his chance and went for the door. Before he could get through, Arthur grabbed his wrists. His hand was as cold as his eyes.

"Let go," Alfred warned, meeting Arthur's stare.

"Please don't do something we'll both regret," Arthur pleaded.

"Leave me alone," Alfred said, yanking his hand away. "I'm warning you." He left and headed back to the cafeteria, rubbing his wrists. Susan was already at the table, smiling as he approached.

No image of Arthur flashed into his head when he saw her. _Maybe I can get him out of my head. I just gotta stay away. _

#

Susan got Alfred's note. The silly goober had left it in her locker. The only strange part was how neat and refined the writing had been. Alfred had seemed like the type to have messy handwriting.

_Meet me on the roof after school. Keep it secret. I have a surprise for you. _

_ - Alfred_

The door to the roof was open and she went out. The sun was setting and it would be dark soon. "Alfred?" she called, not seeing him. She only went out a few feet when the door slammed shut behind her. Spinning around on her heel, she saw Arthur in a green sweater vest and grey pants standing in front of it.

"Good evening, Susan," he said, smiling, but there was no joy on his face. His eyes had a dark look, one that chilled her to the bone. The school president had creeped her out from the beginning.

"A-arthur?" she said nervously, trying to smile. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" he countered, tilting his head to the left. "Meeting someone you shouldn't be meeting.

She hid the note behind her back and shook her head. "I w-."

"It's against school policy for students to be on the roof," he said.

"B-but you're here," she said, rubbing her arm. It felt so cold all of the sudden like all warmth had rushed out. She wanted to run over and pushed Arthur from the door, but something - a dark feeling - seemed to lock her feet in place.

"It's a pity. You could have been a real asset to this school. Bright, cheerful, athletic, but then you had to touch what wasn't yours," he sighed.

"A-arthur?" she said, her voice trembling. Something felt very wrong. "What're you talking about?"

"I'm talking about protecting what's mine," he said, locking his gaze on her. "That's what a good lover does. You don't deserve him."

"Do you mean Alfred?" she asked weakly and then she saw something in his eyes that scared her to the core. "I'll scream," she threatened.

"Go ahead. No one will hear," he chuckled, the shadows wobbling and shifting around Arthur. She opened her mouth to shriek, but it never left her lips. Her screams were muffled, but she still tried, terrified at what she saw.

#

Alfred ran. _No, no, NO!_ This was all his fault. If he had not hit on Susan and been so friendly this would never have happened. He had heard from his mom. The PTA had spread the word and he had taken off for the hospital. School be damned.

The only details his mom had been told was that Susan got hit by a car. A pedestrian found her on the sidewalk near Alfred's school lying in a pool of blood. It was a miracle she was alive. There was no proof, but his guts said Arthur was behind this.

He burst into the hospital lobby, his red sneakers screeching on the grey linoleum floo. Gasping, he told the nurse behind the counter that he needed to see Susan. He lied and said he was her brother.

"Second floor, room 36 an- hey!" He took off, not listening to the rest.

_Poor Susan!_

He rounded a corner and ran smack into someone. They both fell back onto the floor. "Sorry," he said and then gaped. The girl before him had the biggest knockers he had ever seen. He tried not to stare, but they were huge.

She wore a white button-down blouse and brown overalls. She cleared her throat and he blinked, looking at her face. The image of Arthur popping into his head soured the moment. _Damn him!_

The girl had a cute oval shaped face and soft features. Big, blue eyes and blonde-hair cropped short. She looked wholesome and like a farm girl. If it wasn't for Arthur being stuck in his head, this girl would have been his type.

"Are you okay?" she asked, picking herself up. She had an accent that he could not place. _Eastern European?_ He nodded, getting up to help, but she waved him off. "I'm fine."

"Sorry I didn't see you," he said.

"I noticed," she said. Her expression was grim and her eyes glanced at the door to her left. It was still open a crack and he could see some of a bed with someone laying in it. A machine beeped inside at a steady beat. "Excuse me," she said, sniffling and hiding her face.

"Look, I'm really sorry I ran in-." She was gone around the corner before he could finish.

He looked again at the room she had been coming out of when he ran into her. There was a nameplate on the side with a white piece of paper slid into it that had a name written on it: _Ivan Braginski._

_ That name is familiar_. He couldn't place it though. He could hear another girl inside and his curiosity got the better of him. Peeking in a little, he saw the back of the girl's head. She had long, pale-blonde hair with a blue ribbon tied at the top. She blocked view of the man on the bed, but he could see some of him.

_He's in a coma_. This was the ward for it. The girl was speaking a strange language to her brother, but every now and then she would say something in English like, "Brother". _Poor girl. _

"Can I help you?" asked a nurse at the end of the hall. He jumped and shook his head, taking off for Susan's room. When he got there, he found Susan's family were in there, grieving and what he saw next broke his heart.

_Arthur will pay for this._ He knew in his heart that Arthur had done this.


	6. Taunt

Chapter 6

Taunt

Alfred had spent most of the day, helping Susan's family which meant running errands. He had gone to see Kiku, but his teacher had not been home. Not wanting to go to school or confront Arthur yet, Alfred went home.

His parents had laid into him for skipping school until he said why then they just told him to go to his room and rest. They would speak more about this tomorrow. He felt so tired that he didn't disagree.

His head was full of things and one thought: Arthur kept trying to dominate the rest. He wanted to hate him, but something wouldn't let him. Heading straight to his room, he dropped his bag on the floor and flopped onto it almost instantly falling asleep.

At some point he woke. It was dark, but someone was standing behind him. He could feel it. _Ghost?_ Tensing, he swallowed hard, daring himself to look. _Just look. You're a hero_. His mind tortured him with images from all the worst horror movies that he spent bravely clinging to his cousins or friends through.

His mattress shifted as a new weight laid behind him and he sucked in a sharp breath. _Oh my God!_ Someone was there. "Alfred," whispered a voice. It was Susan. _Susan?_

He started to turned, but her hand touched his shoulder and someone stopped him. "Susan?" He whispered. The hand gripped his shoulder, feeling for a moment like a clawed hand, but it went back to that delicate touch.

"Don't look. Don't see me like this," she urged, her cold breath tickling the back of his neck. He shivered.

"Are you okay? Are you...," he trailed off, terrified at the thought. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

"It's okay. I know you didn't meant to," _she_ said in that voice that seemed to shift and growing deeper in tone. He gasped, unable to move, paralyzed with fear and something more as one of her hands snaked around to the front of his waisted and she spooned against him.

"Don't," he said, shutting his eyes. _She's not a ghost! She's not! Turn around._ Instead he rasped, "Is this a dream?"

"Maybe," she said in a voice that no longer sounded completely like her. It also sounded husky. Her breath blew against the back of his ear. Her hands are very delicate and her fingers long. "Does it matter anymore as long as we're together, _poppet_."

There wrongness in that, but he felt dizzy. His mind muddled and he started to relax. Distantly, he felt something poking his backside and he wanted to ask if Susan's cell phone was in her pocket or something. _That's silly. Ghosts don't have cell phones_.

"Goodnight, my Alfie ~" She said. Green eyes flashed in his mind and he frowned, thinking of Arthur. Slowly, he relaxed into it, buried by the sandmen in wave after wave of sleepiness. "We'll be forever..."

#

Alfred jolted awaked, falling out of bed. For a moment, he lay on the carpet, blinking and staring at the slow turning ceiling fan. _That was a dream?_ It was almost morning and some light was filling his room.

Feeling cold, he picked himself up to crawl back into bed and stopped, staring at his pillow. There were two indents in it from where two heads had been laying. He backed away in revulsion, nearly screaming when his phone buzzed.

Digging through his bag he pulled it out and saw a text from Arthur.

_Meet on the school roof. I suggest you hurry or the consequences will be mostly dire for those you hold dear. _

_ ~Love your Artie. :) _

_PS _

_Come alone and tell no one. Or else._

He almost threw the phone away in disgust. Almost.

#

Alfred's bike tires screeched to a halt. He was in front of the flagstones steps leading up to the front doors of the school. The brick face was eerie. Every window a blackened eye and the banner at the front that read: H High - reminded him of a unibrow.

Arthur's image flashed in his mind. He shook his head, willing the image away and the feeling of lust. Dropping his bike, he adjusted his backpack and mounted the steps, wondering how he would enter. It was the dead of night.

His question was answered when one of the front doors creaked ajar, pushed by a chill breeze. _It's open_. His feet stopped as if nailed to the concrete. _Is the school haunted?_ His mind flooded with the worst images of bloody ghosts. His heart sped up and he almost ran back - not that he was afraid or anything - but ghosts?

_ I shouldn't do this. This was stupid. _Yet a part of him wanted to have a chance to confront Arthur and make it clear. He was already determined to transfer to a different school. He had enough of H High and Arthur's weirdness, but something seemed to be calling him. He felt drawn to come.

Seizing his courage, he marched to the front doors and pushed it open, staring into the long dark hallway of H High's inner belly. He gulped and stepped back. If ever there was a place ripe for ghosts it was there. He'd seen enough movies to know.

_The ghost with the chainsaw it probably waiting just around the corner._

More wind gusted and over head he saw clouds forming above. _A storm?_

_Al...fiiieee_, came a voice inside his head. He wobbled from dizziness. _Come... my love_.

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" He screamed, clutching at his temples. Alfred just wanted this over with.

_Just run. Run away_, urged another part of him. He desperately wanted to, but it was like something was tugging him forward. Unable to take it anymore, he decided on a plan. There was only one way Hero Alfred F. Jones would go into this haunted school.

He threw open and the door and dashed inside, not looking around for any ax-murderers. They'd have to catch him first. He flew down the hall, grabbed the corner almost spilling as he went around the corner and kept running.

Reaching the stairs, he mounted them in what had to be record time and threw open the roof of the door to find an empty school roof. _Welp, nobody's here_. He almost convinced himself he could go. Just starting to turn, he caught an orange light popping on.

Staring, he saw the outline of Arthur lighting a drag on the roof and then take a puff. _Arthur smokes?_

"Hello, poppet. So kind of you to join," Arthur called.

"Yeah, well you can k-." His words were cut off when something seized his arm and yanked him toward Arthur so fast he barely caught it. Suddenly, he was two feet away and being suspended in the air, held by the coils of something cold and black. _Ghosts?_

"You're not the first to notice something wrong with me," Arthur admitted, flicking the drag onto the ground, he crushed it with the toe of his leather shoe.

Alfred opened his mouth to shout, but something cold wrapped around it, muffling his voice. He wince as these tendrils oozed under his pant legs, wrapping up his legs to his thigh, holding him in place. They dipped under the collar of his shirt, holding his chest and arms. _What is he?_

He finally realized that the source was Arthur's shadow. This thick layer of shadow was coming from around Arthur and holding Alfred. They forced him to lean toward the student president who reached up and cupped the bottom of Alfred's chin, admiring him.

_Don't touch me_, Alfred tried to yell, scowling at Arthur.

"So spirited. So foolish to confront me. I knew you couldn't resist," Arthur remarked, patting Alfred's cheek with the back of his hand. Alfred struggled harder, saying all sorts of unheard profanities.

"Do you like Shakespeare?" Arthur asked, his face only inches from Alfred's. At Alfred's confused look he sighed and rolled his eyes. His pale white face seemed to almost glow in the dark now. "No, Shakespeare is a man not a Shake or a food item. Honestly, how uninformed can you be?"

Alfred glared back. _Jerk_. More of that warmth washed through him. Arthur was so close. _Fight it. _

"My favorite line from Shakespeare was always, 'Cry Havoc and let loose the dogs of war.' I used to be such a little book nerd. I dreamed of being a writer. I dreamed a lot back then...," Arthur trailed off, his voice sounded sad. "But that all changed when I came here. Care to hear my story?"

Alfred remained silent.

"Very good. Glad we agree. You see it all started here. Here at H High, but more specifically the darkness started right here," Arthur said, tapping a toe on the roof. "This was where I was ruined. This was where I sold my soul..."


	7. Cage

(WARNING: GRAPHIC LANGUAGE. SOME MAY BE HIGHLY OFFENSIVE TO CERTAIN VIEWERS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.)

Chapter 7

Cage

IT began sophomore year for Arthur. That was the year he came to H High. He had moved to the town at the beginning of Summer when school was out and had the luck to meet a Canadian kid named Matthew.

The two had hit it off and it was to Matthew that Arthur gave his first kiss. Matthew was sweet and shy. He asked their relationship be "secret". Arthur, embarrassed himself about what his father might think, agreed. He was still coming to terms with being gay. The last thing he needed was the public view of that.

Those sweet days of Summer went by too fast. So many secret kisses and whispered secrets. Moving to America with his father seemed at that time to have been the best choice. He could not have been happier.

His first encounter with Ivan, the one Matthew and everyone warned Arthur to stay clear of, happened outside a theatre. Arthur and Matthew were just leaving when Arthur saw a kid dragged by Ivan and two others into an alley.

"Did you see that?" Arthur said, moving to help, but Matthew caught the sleeve of his green sweater.

"Leave it alone," He whispered, keeping his eyes on the pavement.

"But somebody should help him," Arthur said, taking off anyway. He appeared at the mouth of the alley and froze, shocked to see Ivan punching the boy in the gut like the tall kid was a sack of meat.

_He's very large_, Arthur realized, hesitating. He opened his lips to say something, but words would not come out. His presence was noticed, however, and Ivan looked over. "Come to join the fun, da?" Ivan offered, his voice sinister and a little childish in pitch.

Arthur wanted to yell. The kid looked over at Arthur weakly. Arthur felt a tug at his sleeve and turned to see Matthew at his side, looking up at him with pleading blue eyes that said, _Please leave it alone_.

_This is complete bollocks!_ Arthur thought.

"Leave now fags," Ivan spat. His two cohorts popped out switchblades and made warning gestures. "Or you're next."

Arthur allowed Matthew to drag him away. He walked in stunned silence, slowly feeling guilt well inside him. _What did I do? _He behaved like a coward. Something he swore he would never do. His grandfather had been a proud member of the Royal Navy and had trained Arthur better than that.

"We should not have left him," Arthur said an hour later, racked by guilt. "We should call the police. Let them know."

Matthew shook his head. "That's Ivan Braginisky. His family owns this town. The police won't help. Just stay out of his way."

"You cannot be serious. Isn't America the Land of the Free?"

"Not this town. Not with the Braginisky family here," Matthew explained. They were now sitting beside each other on Arthur's bed. "Please just leave it alone. He won't kill that kid. I think..."

Arthur's hand gripped the edge of the bed. For the first time, he felt disappointed in Matthew. _No. No, that's not something anyone should say._ But in the end, he didn't want to be alone that night and he decided to let it pass. Matthew after all knew this town. Still it bothered him.

#

One month into the start of his term at H High, Arthur was in the cafeteria, placing food on his tray in a careful arrangement. To keep his nutritional intake balanced just so, he had exactly three carrot pieces of equal size, one dollop of mashed potatoes, four pieces of broccoli, seven tater tots, two scoops of green peas, and a carton of 2 percent skim milk. It was not his preferred lunch - fish and chips with some scones and tea - but it would do.

There was a commotion across the room and he looked over to see Ivan lifting a pale, brown-haired boy up against a wall. The boy looked terrified. "I-I-I'm s-s-sorry Ivan," the boy stammered.

"Nyet, but you will be," Ivan chuckled. From the overturned tray and food, Arthur realized the boy must have collided with Ivan and gotten food on both of him. Arthur glanced around for a teacher, but there was none. All the other students were watching, but no one moved to help.

Ivan threw the boy on the ground, shoving his face against the floor. "Since you made my shoes dirty, you will lick them clean."

Arthur gaped in horror. _Why is no one stopping this?_ He glanced over at Matthew who sat at their table, keeping his eyes on his tray. _Matthew?_ The boy continued to beg and sob. The others in the room started to laugh.

_This is horrible. What's wrong with these people?_

"Leave him alone or I'll fetch a teacher!" Arthur yelled, stunned for a moment that he had spoken. The room went quiet and everyone stared at him. Ivan looked the most shocked, standing up, he let go of the boy.

"What did you say?" Ivan asked, coming over. Arthur knew he should run. Some part of him told him he should, but he had started the fight. He had to stand his ground now or be branded a coward.

"I said you should leave him alone," Arthur repeated as Ivan came to tower over him.

"Oh, you must be new," Ivan said. "Let me welcome you to our school."

Ivan was fast. In a blink of the eye, Arthur's tray was thrown aside and he was lifted up by the front of his shirt toward that violent-eyed monster. _Where are the lunch ladies?_ The cafeteria was separated from from the food area by a wall, but surely they could hear.

"Milk," Ivan said to a brown-haired boy - Antonio - who appeared on his right. He grabbed a carton of a table and handed it to Ivan. "You like cream, faggot? Da, of course you do."

"Not as much as your mum does," Arthur retorted, kicking Ivan in the shin. His eyes bugged out as Ivan seemed to hardly feel it. Ivan went livid and shoved Arthur onto a table, painfully onto several trays.

"You are dead," Ivan said.

He searched the room with the corner of his gaze and spotted Matthew. _Help me!_ Arthur mentally screamed, but Matthew -his boyfriend - looked away, keeping his eyes elsewhere.

_Traitor!_

"Arthur is a faggot," someone began to chant. Soon it grew into a cacophony. They laughed. In his mind, he saw Matthew. The shy boy, the soft kisses and warm hugs. That illusion was shattering.

It had been wonderful. He had felt hopeful of his move to the US. With Matthew by his side, it had seemed so perfect. They had struck it off so well they had even fantasized about the future.

_"And after college, we can move back to England and live in my grandpa's old cottage. He left it to me, but I'm too young yet to own it, but soon...," Arthur had prattled on. Matthew had just smiled and nodded. _

"_Let's be forever, Artie," Matthew had said. _

That very same Matthew who kept his eyes averted. Tears stung Arthur's vision and he yanked his gaze away. _I am alone. _

_"WHAT ARE YOU KIDS DOING?" _yelled the Math teacher who entered and Ivan dropped Arthur. There was scolding and names taken, but ultimately nothing was done. Not against Ivan. Ivan who smirked childishly down at Arthur before walking off with the Bad Touch Trio.

#

"I... think... we should see other people," Matthew all but whispered as they stood in a corner of the library, never once meeting Arthur's eyes. He had avoided Arthur all day until Arthur all but cornered him.

"Why?" Arthur demanded, hurt.

"I...," Matthew said, glancing around. "Maybe we could meet... after school."

"When no one can see us together," Arthur finished.

"Be reasonable," Matthew pleaded. "What good would it do if both of us are beaten up?"

"Coward," Arthur hissed under his breath. Matthew recoiled a little. "Bloody coward. That's what you are."

"I don't like your tone," Matthew muttered, twiddling his fingers. "This is why I should stick to girls."

Arthur blinked. That remark was a slap in the face. Something cracked in Arthur. _My heart._ "You're straight?"

"Mostly. I like to experiment," Matthew explained.

"And that's what I was? An experiment?" Arthur said, his voice growing shrill even in his own years. "A bloody experiment!"

"Please keep it down," Matthew whispered, looking nervous.

"Get out. of. my. sight," Arthur grated, turning away. He couldn't stomach seeing the boy he had loved this summer. The coward. That's what they all were. All of them.

"Artie mayb-."

"Go," he warned, gripping the shelf of the bookcase. Something in his look must have frightened Matthew who quickly nodded and retreated like a mouse scurrying out of a room. "Cowards. The whole bloody lot. Not one hero among them."

The bullying did not stop. It got worse. Arthur became not only an outcast, he became a pariah. It escalated from his stuff going missing to at one point someone shoved him down a flight of stairs and he almost broke his arm. He never saw who did it. It didn't matter. They were all evil.

Even the ones who didn't participate were nothing but fencesitters like Matthew. People who didn't do anything. He began to hate. To wish they'd all suffer.

Arthur wanted to tell his father. He needed to tell someone, but his father was hardly ever home. He didn't want to go back to England though. His mum could barely support his sister let alone Arthur. The divorce had not gone well.

_I can do this_. _Just a little longer_. Ivan would graduate soon. This Spring and then Arthur would be free if he could endure that long. Ivan was relentless though. Arthur's refuge became a corner in the library and one day he fell asleep on accident and they found him.

He woke to duct tape being thrust onto his mouth.

"Hello fag," Ivan chuckled. He struggled as they blindfolded him and held him. From what light he could see it was late evening. He struggled.

"Mmph," He tried to yell, but Ivan whispered into his ear in a voice that chilled his soul.

"We will have some fun, da? You will like sucking my dick."

"It's not rape when it's a fag," Someone, likely Antonio, added behind Arthur. "My Papa always told me how they love the cock."

Arthur froze, feeling sick inside.

_No, no, NO, NEVER!_

(**AN ** To be honest the original title of this story was "Work Your Magic". I liked that song a lot. Anyhow there is not much more to go before this story is finished. Maybe three or four more chapters?

I'm glad someone noticed the FMA Pride reference. ;)

Stay tuned...)


	8. Snarl

_(_**_WARNING:_**_ IMPLIED RAPE AND PHYSICAL ASSAULT. SOME GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS. THIS HAS BEEN CHANGED TO M RATINGS TO BE SAFE. )_

_Chapter 8_

_Snarl_

"Swallow it," Ivan commanded, zipping up his pants. With the exception of Francis, the others laughed. Arthur's arms were duct-taped to the iron bars of the railing on the roof, bound in a sitting crucifix pose. His pants were at his feet and his brown sweater had suspicions stains.

His face was covered in blood and semen. The very stuff in his mouth. It tasted awful. He was bruised and battered, but the real damage was inside. He was damaged goods.

"Now," Ivan warned. Cell phone cameras clicked as the others eagerly photographed Arthur. "Do we need the pipe again?" Ivan asked, picked it up off the ground. It had blood marks in the end. They had already knocked the wind out of Arthur earlier with it and done worse in places he didn't want to think about.

Arthur shook his head and reluctantly swallowed the cum as the others filmed. "Smile," Ivan warned and Arthur did. "Like you meant it." Arthur tried. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Francis with a disgusted face. He was the only one of them who seemed uncomfortable with what had been done.

_He did nothing to stop it_.

"Say one word about this and _keek_," Antonio warned, drawing his thumb across his throat. "We will post these all over the internet and everyone will know how you loved Ivan's cock."

More hooping and laughter followed from Ivan and the Bad Touch Trio. Arthur stared at the ground, his head hung in shame. Shame and another feeling. Anger. He could feel it budding inside him, but he dare not show it. His hand curled into fists, but he kept quiet.

_Just a little more and I can go home. I'll shower and then..._ He didn't know what came next. Self-loathing? Hate? The road ahead seemed bleak. His pride in ruins. They had used and abused him, then tossed him away like a worn condom.

_My first time..._

"Time to go," Ivan said, flicking away his cigarette, one he had burned Arthur's arms with several times and had threatened to burn Arthur's eyes out with if he didn't do what Ivan wanted. It took Arthur a moment to realize what they were doing.

"You're leaving me?" Arthur gasped, struggling at his bonds. _No, no, NO! NOT HERE! _He shivered as a cold breeze blew, promising the coming night chill.

"Aw, the fag misses us," Anotnio snickered. More chuckling followed, except Francis who said, "Ivan maybe w-."

"Francis," Ivan warned. The frog quieted and looked away, casting Arthur a small pitying look. "Do not worry we will come back for you tomorrow," Ivan replied, giggling at Arthur.

Arthur screamed at them. Screamed as they shut the door. Then he sobbed and hated every inch of his pathetic self.

_I am alone._

#

It had taken three hours, but he had finally freed one of his hands from the duct tape. It was night now. His nose was running and he was cold. So cold. His body hurt all over. Wounds that would never really heal were all over him.

At last, his hand came free of the tape and he numbly reached over and worked his other hand free. His voice was hoarse now. Ivan had been very rough. They all had, except Francis who had only filmed.

His eyes were puffy from crying. Images flashed through his head as he sat there, remembering Matthew turning away that day in the cafeteria. Of all the kids laughing. Yet the image that hurt the most was not real, it was a figment of his imagination. It was the image of what his mum would look like when she saw her proud son posted all over the internet in an orgy of guys. Would she be ashamed? Heart-broken?

_Mum_.

He wiped off his tears and nose on his sleeve and hugged his knees closely, ignoring the tremor of pain that rocketed up him. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, putting his pants back on. He clutched the railing for support. More bitter tears stung his eyes.

Deep down, he knew Ivan would eventually post it all anyway. Just because. The world would know of faggot Arthur and he would be ruined. _It's all over_. His whole life and all his dreams were now in smoke.

Swallowing, he stepped up onto the raised concrete edge and then put one leg over the railing and then the other. He clung with his hands to the railing, staring down at the dark ground below. There was little moonlight, but he could make out the concrete of the sidewalk four stories below.

Would it be quick? Would he be lucky and break his neck?

"No more," he whispered, staring at it longingly. Visualizing himself smacking into it and the crack of his neck. _Just let go. Fly, Arthur, fly_. He imagined himself soaring to the ground. Then there would be darkness and peace. He would be free of this hell.

For a moment, he let go, just a moment, but before he could fall forward he caught himself. Sobbing, he shook his head and climbed back over the railing, falling onto the roof, he curled into a ball.

He couldn't do it. _I can't even kill myself_.

As he lay there, something bubbled out of his mind. A dark thought. _They should suffer._ Something in him shattered and rage that filled every fiber of his being rushed through him. There was a way.

Though his parents had never know about it, his grandmother had once remarked that Arthur had the "gift". He could see fairies like her. She had taught him things, but it was only after she passed away that he found her spell book. Her grimoire and in it there had been forbidden spells. Spells involving one's own blood and circles, calling upon the darkest of forces.

He had never tried them. They were bad. But what did he have to lose now?

_They took everything_. _So I'll destroy them_.

Yes, they would all pay.

Picking himself up, he used blood from his own wounds to draw the circle and to write the runes that would summon the forbidden into this world. He would show his enemies what real power was.

Clouds began to form above, bubbling and boiling as he forced himself to remember the chant that he was never supposed to have known. He screamed into the hellish skies the words that would punch a hole into _that_ world and give him the power he needed. The power for _true_ vengeance.

#

Around three am, Francis came back to the school. _Ivan went too far._ All of them did and while Francis did not agree with it, but he didn't want it done to him. _May God forgive me_, he thought. Truth be told, he was terrified Ivan would find out Francis had defied him, but he could not leave that poor boy up there to be found in the morning.

Sometimes Francis contemplated going to the police, but Ivan's family was very powerful. Climbing through one of the science room's windows, he made his way through the school, clicking on his flashlight, he headed upstairs. At the door to the roof, he opened it a crack and whispered, "Arthur?" No answer.

"Mon cher?" He called a little louder, pushing it open. "Are you there?" He shined the light where Arthur should have been. There was nothing but duct tape stuck to the railing and fluttering in the breeze. _Did he free himself?_ That would be a relief actually.

Francis started to turn to go back down when something seized him and yanked him by the scruff of his blue coat, tossing him through the air to the other side of the roof. He landed with an "oof" and rolled a couple times, scraping himself all over. It knocked the wind out of him.

_What was that?_ He struggled to breathe, trying to find air. Movement ahead caught him and he looked up in his haze of pain to see a shadowy figure standing before him. _Arthur? _ He tried to say. Nothing came out.

His flashlight had landed nearby and with a shaky hand, he reached over and picked it up, shining it on a pair of slacks. He lifted the light to find Arthur's face or what should have been. He froze in horror. Where Arthur's eyes should have been there was nothing but blackness. Arthur wore a macabre grin.

"You shall be first," Arthur declared in a deep voice that was not entirely Arthur's, "in my choir of _pain_. Your screams will be my music." The grin widened.

Francis screamed and did not stop for some time.

#

"Is the fag still up there?" Ivan muttered. He had sent Antonio to take care of it, but Antonio had not come back down. School would be starting soon and they could not be in here. It was around six am or so. "That fool," Ivan muttered, mounting the steps.

Throwing open the door, he strode onto the roof, stopping as he noticed Francis laying upside down on it and Antonio nearby in the same position. Arthur stood in the middle of the roof with his back to Ivan and his arms folded behind him.

The door slammed shut behind Ivan who whirled around. _The wind?_ He tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn't open. "Punk, what did you do?" Ivan demanded, rounding on Arthur who did not face him.

"Taught them a lesson," Arthur answered. His voice was strange. Ivan couldn't say how, but it made the hairs on his nape stand up. He refused to be intimidated by this British fop though.

"You need the lesson, da," Ivan said, marching over, he grabbed Arthur's shoulder to push him around. He instantly regretted it. Arthur latched onto Ivan's hand, crushing it with an unnatural strength. Ivan felt - no heard - the bones in his hand snap like twigs and he cried out, falling to his knees.

Arthur then turned, holding onto Ivan's hand as Ivan tried to get back. Ivan, despite his pain, felt his blood run cold at the sight of Arthur. _His eyes! Where are his eyes?_

Arthur smiled, tilting his head left. "Indeed. Let's have a lesson. I want to show you what _real _power is. And what _real_ pain is. And then, by the time, I'm finished with you," Arthur said, leaning forward, the shadows extended out around him, reaching for Ivan. "You'll wish you could fly."

For the first time in Ivan's life he knew _fear_.


	9. Caught

**Chapter 9**

**Caught**

"You killed him?" Alfred said, his gag removed. Arthur still held him suspended in the air by those shadows.

Arthur chuckled. "No, he's still alive."

Alfred frowned, remembering. His eyes widened. The name plate from the hospital flashed through his head. "Ivan," he blurted out, "He's the guy in the coma."

"Correct," Arthur answered, smiling demurely. "You should have seen how he begged. The feared Ivan, groveling for mercy," his expression darkened and his voice hardened, "then I threw him. They called it an accident. His family insisted otherwise, but what could they prove? Do you know he's still aware?"

Alfred's blood ran cold. "You mean..."

"He's paralyzed. Trapped in his own mind. Sometimes, I visit and listen to him scream inside. Only I can hear it. I tell him what a long, long life he'll live." Arthur tapped his temple. "Because you see, there are worse things than death."

"Arthur, you need help."

Arthur doubled over, clutching his stomach, he laughed. Wiping tears out of his eyes, he looked at Alfred. "Need help? _Need help?_ What genius!" He straightened and his face grew serious as he approached Alfred. "I _needed_ help back then. Did I get it?" His face grew furious. "The cockroaches scurried away! Vile insects! They deserve what they get."

"You're wrong! Not everyone is bad. You're just seeing the worst."

"I see what I was shown," Arthur said, holding up a forefinger, he came closer until inches from Alfred's face. His breathe touched Alfred's cheeks. Alfred struggled to lean away. "Those soulless bags of skin will pay. Except you," his features softened. "Only you are good."

Alfred shook his head. "Get the fuck away from me!"

"I was hoping you would see reason," Arthur said, smirking. One of the tendrils creeped under Alfred's pant leg. He tensed, glaring at Arthur. It went up his thigh and teased his balls, fondling them.

"Stop," he gasped, shutting his eyes, trying to stop. Alfred shuddered. It wrapped around his length, undulating and driving him to an erection. He bit his lip.

"Oh poppet, the things will do."

"Never," Alfred grated.

"Can you resist me?" Alfred fought, filling his mind with horrific images. _Brocolli! Spinach! Ghosts!_ It worked some, but his jeans grew painfully tight at the crotch. The shadow sped up, Alfred rocking in the air. His waist twitched forward to it. It felt so good.

_No!_

"Bind yourself to me," Arthur continued. "It will be like nothing you've ever known. You'll be my highest servant. I only forced that on matthew as joke and punishment for the Bad Touch Trio.

But you deserve to be by my side."

Alfred shook his head. The caresses spread all over. Arthur purred in his ears and his eyes popped open to see the man in front of him. Alfred heated. His whole body tensed, muscles coiling in his stomach as he felt it come. He climaxed, groaning as he ejaculated hard into his pants. An immediate wave of shame washed over him.

"Beautiful," Arthur commented into Alfred's ear. "Your expression. The way the pleasure rolled through your body."

"Arthur," Alfred said huskily.

"Yes, poppet?"

He spat in Arthur's face, the saliva landing on his nose. Arthur's paled with anger. "You're an ass."

A slap smacked across his cheek. Arthur shook, his eyes narrowed, he instantly looked regretful and reached to touch Alfred who flinched away. "Poppet, look what you made me do. It's that Susan."

_Susan?_ "What about her?" Alfred growled, accusing, "You hurt her."

"Hmph," Arthur sniffed. "What about her?"

"What's she have to do with anything that happened to you? She wasn't even here!"

"She's just like them. A fencesitter. One who touched what doesn't belong to her."

"I belong to no one!"

Arthur took on a considering look. "I could save her. Heal her."

"Then do it!"

"But," Arthur sighed, tapping his chin. "only if you agree to be my boyfriend."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You fucking kidding me?"

The shadows tightened and Arthur's features twitched, a shadow of anger crossing them. "You're the hero, right? There's your damsel in distress."

"I wouldn't touch you with a telephone pole!"

Arthur now rolled his eyes. "Did you not listen?" He placed a hand over his heart. "I'm the victim here. The one you should feel sorry for."

"I do. I find you pathetic."

Alfred was yanked forward, his face slammed into the roof.

"Oh poppet, you upset me again," Arthur said, rushing over. The restraints melted off. He touched Alfred's cheek and Alfred swatted him off and then grabbed him by the front of his shirt, but before he could punch him, the shadows threw Alfred back, dragging him toward the now open door of the roof.

"I hate you!"

Arthur's lips pursed. "You have twenty-four hours to agree or it won't just be Susan in danger."

"What would you do?" Alfred asked.

"Care to find out?"

"This is not how you win people, Arthur!"

"Think it over, love."

Alfred was pulled out and the door slammed shut, but Alfred understood Arthur's meaning.

_Or else. _

**AN**

(Hey PoeticJustic, no worries. I appreciate the feedback. Yes, I agree my style is more crude in this story than The Hetalia Chronicles. There are three reason for this...

1.) In the HC, I would re-write chapters between 2-6 times. Those re-drafts have a big effect on the quality of the writing. For my non-fanfiction stuff that I submit for publishing, my re-draft count is usually between 20-60 times. So you can imagine the difference in quality there. With this story, however, I usually only write it once and maybe do one re-draft so it is often very rough written. My apologies to my viewers I'm just not as invested to take it to that level anymore.

2.) This story was not entirely thought out until about chapter 6. I have kinda written a lot of it on the fly, but the ending is now worked out.


	10. Trick

(After a long struggle, I've concluded that I will just have to post this chapter as is. I'm not happy with it at all, but I want to finish this story. After this one is the last chapter.)

Chapter 10

Trick

"Do you believe in magic?" Alfred asked.

Kiku coughed, choking on his tea. "S-sumimasen?" He sputtered, looking away in embarrassment as he dabbed at his chin with a napkin. Setting his cup and saucer on the coffee table, he looked at Alfred who lounged on a mustard-yellow sofa. "Magic?"

"Yeah. You know unicorns, elves. That stuff."

"Why do you ask?"

_Arthur._

"No reason," Alfred lied, forcing a grin.

Kiku's brow furrowed. He studied Alfred. "Does this has something to do with Arthur-san?"

"What? No," Alfred said, dismissively, glancing around and then up at the plaster ceiling. "Sure a lotta cracks up there."

"Alfred-san," Kiku began, "Have you been playing RPGs again?"

Alfred nearly fell out of his seat laughing. "Kiku-sensei!" _It feels good to laugh again._ Grabbing his stomach, he almost doubled over and then wiped a tear out of his eyes. "Heck no. I'm just curious. Like if - and I'm not saying it is - magic were real. How would you fight it? Would you like go on a quest? Collect some gems. Kill a dragon and obtain a magical sword or something?"

"So you have been playing RPGs."

Alfred sighed. _Better just say yes._ "Something like that," he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, "And in this game I have to fight an evil boy with black magic. He can do all sorts of weird stuff like summon shadows and stuff. But I'm stuck. I don't know how to stop this boss. This villain," he added.

Kiku leaned over, reaching across the arm of his other sofa he opened the top drawer of his rosewood desk. Pulling out an manilla file, he placed it on the coffee table between them.

"What's this?" Alfred asked, opening it to find a glossy black and white photo of a tall boy with pale hair and a scarf. He froze, reading the name at the bottom, written in permanent marker, it read: IVAN BRAGINISKY.

"Is this villain by any chance named Arthur?"

Alfred tensed. _Tell no one_, Arthur had warned. "Don't be silly." He swallowed hard.

"Let's talk about this _game_ of yours," Kiku said. "I remember it. Yes, it was in a High School I believe. A place of rumors. A place that a couple years ago had a high dropout rate. Many students left, claiming they were intimidated by a terrible student. A boy named Ivan."

"He fell," Alfred said.

"Off a roof. So the story goes," Kiku said. "The Braginisky family wouldn't have it though. They were tyrants and they ruled the whole town. They insisted on foul play. But Ivan's injury only began their bad luck."

"Something else happened?"

"Next, they lost their fortunes in a bad investment. Then Ivan's father died suddenly of a heart attack. They found him in his office. Some police leaked that they'd never seen anything like it. A man with his face in such a scared expression."

_Did Arthur?_

Alfred felt nervous.

"Alfred-san, you look pale. This probably isn't a story for children," Kiku said.

"I'm fine," Alfred said, flipping through the documents to see news articles and documents. "Please tell me the rest."

Kiku licked his lips. "It's nothing but tragedy. The mother lost her mind from grief. The two sisters are all that remain and they struggle to pay their brother's mounting medical bills as investors abandon the company and their family. As if..." he trailed off.

"As if what?"

"As if they're cursed," Kiku finished.

Alfred's mouth went dry. He stared at a headline in one article: _BRAGINISKY FAMILY IN RUINS... HOW FAR WILL THEY FALL?_

"And it wasn't just them. The town's former chief of police, mayor, and the principal of H High all lost their jobs. Just a couple months before you arrived. An embezzlement scheme."

"Let me guess," he said with a wry laugh, "They were all loyal to the Braginisky family."

"Coincidence?"

"Or a curse," Alfred said.

_... it won't just be Susan in danger..._

Alfred suppressed a shudder.

"So you believe in magic?"

"Maybe not the Dumbledore stuff, but maybe some weird stuff is possible? I mean UFOs are real."

"Alfred-san, not that again."

"Look something happened at Roswell is all I'm saying. Believe what you want, but there's a starship hidden away in Area 51."

Kiku shook his head. "You and your conspiracy theories." He held up a palm before Alfred could start again. "When I was a boy, our next door neighbor's house was haunted by an evil spirit. Or so they believed."

"G-ghosts-s-s?" Alfred gulped. "I was only talking about bad magic." He looked around peevishly.

"Bad magic. Bad spirits. These forces can be entwined. The same hate that takes root in the dead, can be born in the living."

"How," he whispered, and raising his voice asked in a manly voice, "What did they do?"

"They had a Shinto priest purify their home."

"And it worked?"

"No. They moved."

"And the house?"

"Condemned and abandoned to rot."

"Depressing, Kiku-sensei," Alfred sighed, feeling his heart sink.

"I don't know if the house was haunted." _ He used the "H" word again! "_But I do remember feeling a chill whenever I passed it on my way to school. A feeling of eyes even when no one lived there. Alfred-san, what're you doing?"

Alfred now had his legs folded against his chest and was clutching the armrest for dear life. "N-nothing."

"There's no need to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid!" He insisted. "I just like this soft arm rest. G-go on!" _My voice didn't tremble. It didn't!_

"Places can get like that. I believe places like people can develop their own soul. And like people it can become damaged and hurt and angry," Kiku continued. "Hate can infect them."

"But can't one purify them? Can't one stop the anger?"

"Some places like people cannot be saved," Kiku said. "You just have to let them go."

"Kiku, I," He froze mid-sentence. A tendril of shadow was creeping toward Kiku's left foot from under the sofa. "NO!" he cried, jumping up. It retreated out of sight as Kiku looked down.

"Alfred-san, is something wrong? Is there a stain?" Kiku's voice sounded worried.

"I hafta go," Alfred said. "Thank you for everything," he said, picking up the file and stuffing it in his backpack. "I appreciated it." Slowly, he pulled out a white envelope, stuffed and sealed shut. "Can I ask one more favor?"

"Of course, Alfred-san."

"Will you open this in exactly six months time?" He thrust it toward Kiku. "No sooner and no later."

"What is it?" Kiku asked, taking it.

"Will you promise?"

"Of course, bu-"

"Please."

"I promise, Alfred-san."

"Thank you," Alfred grinned. "It's been real."

OOO

"Enjoy your chat with Kiku?" Arthur asked. He was leaned against a tree, arms crossed, bathed in late evening shade. "I'd thought you'd rush to your family."

"As controlling as ever," Alfred said, stopping at the edge of the shadows. They were in a park. Arthur's text had been clear. "I thought I had twenty-four hours free of _you._"

"Cold. Is that anyway to speak to your lover?"

Heat invaded Alfred's cheeks. He frowned, annoyed at himself. "Is that all you want? Why?"

Arthur looked startled. "What do you mean why?" He said, strolling over. Alfred kept himself rooted, resisting the warring urges to pull away and to lean in. He felt both at the same time. _So confusing._ _But which is my true desire?_ Arthur placed a cool palm on his cheek and looked at him with those piercing green eyes. "The heart wants what it wants."

"And if I agree," Alfred said, gulping hard. His body flushed at Arthur's touch. "If become yours, what will you give me?"

Arthur's expression darkened. "What are you a whore now? You're selling your body?"

"You're one to talk. Forcing me to this," Alfred said, pushing up his glasses. He set his hands on Arthur's wrists. The boy's cheeks pinked. "If this will make things right, if it'll cure your anger. I'll do it," he said, "But I want something in return."

"Anything," Arthur breathed, his eyebrows drawing down at the side. An earnest look shined in his eyes. Alfred's breath quickened. He couldn't help but notice how Arthur's leather jacket was zipped halfway down, partly revealing his white undershirt.

"Die with me. Tonight."

Arthur's hands dropped away and he stepped back. "Are you mad?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow. _Irony._ "No, I'm serious. I want us to leave this town. Tonight."

"That's barking mad! When I'm about to graduate? And I thought I had problems!"

"Think about it! This is the place where you were raped Where you were hurt and tortured! Staying here is just living in bad memories. You'll never get better here."

"Things have changed. I have you."

"Have they?" Alfred took his arms again. "And how long will it last before you remember? Have you ever forgotten? Does one day go by where you don't remember? When you aren't angry?"

Arthur looked lost for words. He averted his gaze, his face thoughtful. "I can."

"How? By hurting people?"

"I won't if I have you."

"And you won't have me if you don't" Alfred warned.

"How can you say no?"

"What's the point in saying yes? How do I know you won't get pissed at me some day and threaten my loved ones again?" Alfred challenged.

"So this is about _them!_ It's all about them!"

"Duh," Alfred said, adding, "And _you._"

"How's it about me?"

"Because I want you to be better," Alfred said, yanking Arthur close. He held him hard against his chest, resting his chin on the crown of Arthur's head. "I can't stand suffering. Even in you. I want to purify your heart. I want to be your hero."

"If I go, you'll be mine? You'll be my hero?" Arthur said, burying his nose in Alfred's chest. His slender fingers creeped up Alfred's back and he fell into the embrace. "Forever?"

"For as long as you want I'll take care of you."

"So what did you mean about dying?"

"Faking our death of course," Alfred said. "With your powers, it should be easy. Speaking of which. Can you... can you cast _magic missile?"_

Arthur stiffened in his arms. "Don't be such a nerd."

For a moment, Alfred smiled, but it faltered and he moved away. "And save Susan."

Jealousy painted Arthur's features. "Her?"

"Stop that," Alfred grumbled. "I don't want to be weighted with guilt."

"I'll be adding extra."

"But do you accept the main terms?"

"For you, Alfie?" Arthur said, smiling demurely, "This is a _bargain._"

**Note:**

And you're busy, lazy, and unmotivated writer collapses from the Herculean effort of getting this out. The next chapter will be the ending - hate or love it - and then a small little epilogue.

TBC... for the last time.)


	11. Freedom

(**Warning:** I've mulled over this and come to the conclusion that this is the ending that most fits this story. I know, however, it's not the ending many likely wanted, nor expected. It's a tough choice sometimes as an author. I truly want to make all my readers satisfied and give them the ending they're rooting for, but to me a story has a life of its own.

This is the ending as intended even from early in the story.

The epilogue will be posted last and contains an important part.)

Chapter 11

Freedom

No one visited the Kirkland cottage beyond a few salesman - and then never twice. Nestled in the countryside north of Cambridge, it had fallen into disrepair years ago. Not even Arthur Kirkland moving back to his father's old estate had stopped its decline.

Villagers still talked about it. That day, ten years ago, when Arthur returned with a yank, a sunny lad named Alfred. They became the subject of the town's gossip and a source of romantic stories among local girls.

_Were they friends? Lovers?_

The neighbors painted a dark picture - one of sobbing and strange sounds in the night. They heard frequent arguments. None of this tarnished the rosy picture of the pair until the day Isabel's body was found.

The magistrate concluded an accident. She'd fallen into the river and drowned. They found no sign of foul play, but some started to whisper. _Hadn't she flirted with Alfred the week before? Did you see Arthur's expression?_ They said.

Soon they stopped greeting Alfred back when he visited town. They kept their eyes downcast. His smile never faltered or faded. He remained ever sunny.

But behind that simple demeanor, the innocent walls of that cottage, was a darker story. And only Alfred knew it.

He had no collar, but he was leashed to Arthur like a dog to its master. Sometimes his master let him out to visit the town, but he had to be back before sundown. Master demanded it.

That didn't stop Alfred from pushing back, arguing that the sun hadn't fully set. Always more fights, then more stringent rules until he had to obey exact second deadlines. That was life under Kirkland's jealous thumb.

_We used to go places together_, Alfred thought, setting the tea pot on the silver tray. He put two cubes of sugar in the porcelain cup, decorated with gold rimming. Arthur hated milk and took it black.

"Alfred!" Arthur screeched from upstairs, pounding his cane against the headboard of his four poster bed. "What's taking you so long, git?"

"Coming," Alfred called, picking up the tray. A bowl of pea soup balanced on it. He checked and nodded, satisfied everything was in place. He paused at a mirror by the foot of the stairs. He wore brown slacked and a white button down shirt, ironed perfectly not a wrinkle, just as Arthur preferred.

"Alfred!" Arthur screamed again. More pounding. "I'm dying up here and you don't care!"

Alfred rolled his eyes. He still was handsome as ever, but there were tired lines forming around the corner of his eyes. That one hair strand still stuck up. No matter how much gel he put in or how Arthur despised it, it stood up, defiant to Arthur's control of Alfred's appearance.

Alfred went upstairs and carried the tray down the oak hallway to the partially open door of the bedroom. Nudging it open with his slippered foot, he entered. "I'm here," he said, grinning. "My love," he remembered to add.

"S'bout time, git," Arthur sneered, thumping his cane on the bedspread. "I swear you do it on purpose. You know I can't come down there anymore." Arthur's lower lip trembled and he turned away from Alfred, the grey light filtering through the window's lacy curtains reflected in Arthur's watery eyes. "It's gets lonely up here."

"But I had to make your meal," Alfred said, setting the tray on the bedside table. "Do you need the bedpan?" He started to reach for it.

"No," Arthur snapped, still not looking at Alfred. Deep shadows carved harsh lines in his face. Arthur still looked as beautiful as his youth as if time had not touched him. But they both knew better. Arthur's insides were rotted. He coughed up blood regularly now.

Arthur wouldn't say it, but Alfred suspected whatever dark deal Arthur had made was taking its toll. From the the way he pursed his lips and gripped the sheets, Alfred could tell Arthur lived in almost constant pain.

"It's time to eat, love," Alfred said, cradling the back of Arthur's head, he used other hand to pick up a spoonful of pea soup. Blowing on it, he brought it to Arthur's lips. "Time for the B-52 bomber."

Arthur looked unamused, but opened his mouth and swallowed it. His adam's apple bobbed up and down with each sip. His green eyes stayed on Alfred. The eyes of a haunted man.

When the bowl was empty, Alfred set the spoon back and stood up, leaning over Arthur, he fluffed his pillow and adjusted his bedding. "Alfie," Arthur said weakly, looking at Alfred earnestly. "Do you love me?"

"Yes." Alfred didn't even glance at Arthur as he straightened the bedding.

"Then kill me." Arthur licked his lips. "Please."

Alfred paused and met Arthur's gaze. "How many times we have this talk? I won't do that."

"Why not? You obey everything else!"

"You know why."

"It hurts all the time."

"I love you too much."

Arthur let out a bitter laugh. "Yes, of course you do."

Alfred stood up, picking up the tray, he head for the door.

"Wait," Arthur pleaded. "Alfie, please."

Afred stopped, looking over his shoulder at Arthur. "Yes?"

"Do you hate me?"

Alfred sighed. Keeping his tone cold and neutral, he replied, "How many times must I answer this?"

"I didn't want to hurt you! I just wanted you to love me."

"I know."

"Have you ever loved me?"

"Will you ever believe the answer is yes?"

Arthur sniffled behind him. "What kind of answer is that! Admit it! You've never forgiven me. I can see it in your eyes. The hate. You hate me so much."

"Arthur," Alfred said, "All you see reflected is your own feelings."

"Kill me," Arthur whimpered. "Take your revenge."

"A hero wouldn't. But you never understood that. I don't kill people just because I want to." He said the last part emphatically. Arthur flinched as if stung by Alfred's words.

"I just wanted you," Arthur sobbed, his voice breaking.

"And you got me and everything you wanted. Your vengeance. Me. Why aren't you happy?" It was hard not to pity Arthur. So much had happened between them. "What more must I do to prove my loyalty?"

"I never had you! I got your body, but never your heart. 'Twas all an illusion. You never gave into the spell," Arthur remarked bitterly. "Why couldn't you just accept me?"

Alfred turned back to the dark and empty hallway, his shoulders dropping. "Supper's at six."

"You enjoy my suffering, don't you? You're laughing inside! How can be so cold? So awful to me! You're a liar like all of them!"

Alfred rounded on Arthur. His grip tightened on the tray until it shook and his knuckles whitened. Taking in a deep breath, he exhaled, calming himself. "I kept my word. I left _everything_ for you. I swore to take care of you _always_! You're the one who never accepted my heart."

Arthur's face fell, a single tear tracing a course down his cheeks. It was the face of a man realizing his fate. "You're my hero," he laughed bitterly, shifting his gaze to the window.

_And you're my villain_, Alfred finished silently in his head. "Are we _done_?" Arthur swallowed hard and nodded, his lower quivering.

"We are," he answered so soft it was almost a whisper. Alfred knew what he meant.

"Thank you," Alfred said, grabbing the door knob, he held the tray with the other.

"Alfie," Arthur rasped benind him. "Please for-" The door shut with a click, cutting Arthur off. Alfred walked down the oak hall and never looked back.

The End

(It's not over. There will be an epilogue. Stay tuned.)


	12. Epilogue

**(WARNING: Strong language)**

**Epilogue**

"Hey," Alfred said, laying a rose on top of the headstone, "How you fairing?"

Etched in the black granite was: ARTHUR KIRKLAND.

"S'not so bad around here," Alfred said, glancing around at the cemetery, surrounded by a forest. Someone entered from the far end, carrying a rose-red umbrella. "Kinda cozy."

He rubbed a hand through his damp hair, then shoved his hands back into the pockets of his navy blue trench coat. He sneezed. A soft mist coated everything in wetness. _This English weather._

_It rained that day too._

The memory returned, burned into his brain...

_"Arthur?_ _Arthur!" He dropped the grocery bags, falling to his knees besides Arthur. He shook him. His lover lay in a pool of his own blood as if Arthur had bled from every orifice in his body. _

_"ARTHUR!" _

Everything was hazy after that. Somehow Alfred had dialed the police, answered questions in the days following, and even arranged Arthur's funeral. But it was all a blur as if he was just going through the motions.

_Like I can't turn the page and start a new chapter._

Time had frozen.

He returned to the US. Kiku helped. Alfred had trusted him with the truth years ago and Kiku had not let him down the way Alfred had let his parents down. They wanted answers. _Where were you? Why?_

Answers he could not give.

"Alfred F. Jones?" A sweet voice said. He turned around to face a woman holding a red umbrella.

_That face? _His heart stopped.

"Arthur?" he breathed. Then he realized. _No. _She wore glasses, lacked a unibrow, and kept her hair tied in pigtails by two scarlet ribbons. _Related?_ The faces were so alike. _Same green eyes and sandy-blonde hair._

She smiled, tilting her head. "Close. I'm Alice Kirkland, Arthur's twin sister." _Twin?_ She adjusted the dark red and mustard-yellow striped scarf around her neck. It looked like Tom Baker's scarf from Doctor Who. She wore a black trench coat, gloves, stockings, and knee-high boots. "I guess he never mentioned me."

"Arthur always complained about his four brothers."

"As do I now that I know about them," she admitted. "He and I didn't know about each other for a long time. Mother cheated and we were conceived by a different father. When Master Kirkland found out, he sent mother and me away, fearing I'd look like the woman who broke his heart. He let her keep the surname though and sent her money to take care of me."

"But he didn't raise you with the rest?"

She shrugged. "I was angry when I found out, but I've moved on. I've realized it was complicated for both sides. Love can be like that as surely you must know."

His cheeks pinked at what she implied. _Does she know Arthur and I... _He pushed the thought away. "Are you here to pay your respects?"

"And to find you. I called your family in the US last week, but they said you were on a flight to England. So I asked the town's innkeeper to let me know if you appeared. And here you are."

"And why're you stalking me?"

Her smile never faltered. There was something in it that made his heart twinge. _What is this?_ "To meet the man who saved my brother's soul."

He nearly fell over at that. "Don't be silly! I didn't save him." _I abandoned him._ He still remembered slamming the door as he stormed out of the house that day after another big fight with Arthur.

"But you did."

"I'm sorry, Alice," he fumbled the name, "I hate to tell you this. But Arthur wasn't a happy man."

"If you mean crabby, he was always like that even when happy." A breeze rattled trees a few feet away, swaying branches, a flurry of autumn leaves scattered across the grass, passing between them. It caressed Alfred's skin like soft, cold kisses. He shivered. "You were his hero."

"Ha!" Alfred laughed bitterly. "I was no one's hero." In between the fights and cold wars had been moments of tenderness. Nights of walking under the stars, watching movies - Arthur always crying at the sappy parts and Alfred boldly comforting Arthur through the scary ones like a hero!

"You must have or Arthur wouldn't have done this," she said, pulling a slightly-crumpled piece of parchment from her pocket and handing it to Alfred. Even with the gloves, he noted how slender her fingers were. _Like Arthur's._ "It's a deed. Master Kirkland left Arthur a considerable fortune. One Arthur left for you. I'm not sure what it is in dollars, but it's considerable."

"That can't be," he said, opening the letter, his eyes racing over the printed writing to Arthur's curvy signature at the bottom. "When did he do this?"

"It arrived to me a couple months ago," she replied, "Along with this," she said pulling out a thick envelop. "A letter."

"No," Alfred said. "I don't want to go through this again. Keep it. Give it to charity. I don't need it," he said, holding out the paper. "I want nothing of Artie's. I only came here to say good-bye and make a clean break."

_To move on. To forget._

She raised an eyebrow, but stood there, not taking it. "Give it away yourself," she said, "But it's a lot to walk away from."

"Heroes don't work for money," he said wryly. _And besides I have my own money now._

He ran the website _Tony's Corner of the Strange,_ writing such ground-breaking articles on it as _Are Aliens Real? The Truth Behind Roswell_ and _The Science of the Perfect Burger!_ He'd made it during his years with Arthur, but only recently had the advertising revenue become enough for him to live off.

"At least read the letter," she said, thrusting the envelop at him. "Most of it is for me, but the last two pages are for you."

"No thanks," he said, shaking his head. "I'm done with all of it. If Arthur didn't tell me it while he was alive, then I don't want to hear it now."

"Look at the postmark," she said, holding it up so Alfred could see the time stamp over the Queen Elizabeth stamp.

His eyes widened and he snatched it away, looking closer. "The day he died. But how?" He pulled out several sheets of paper, unfolding them, he thumbed through them. Pages and pages written in Arthur's neat penmanship. "Why didn't he just give it to me to post?"

Alfred swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat. He could see it in his head. Arthur stumbling, crawling down the stairs while Alfred was off buying groceries. Arthur dropping it in the postbox before the postman arrived.

He reached the last page, to a poem entitled: _You're My Hero_

"Git," he read the first line aloud, frowning, he glanced up at her. "Who starts a poem like that?"

"Arthur."

"Thick-headed oaf," he read, looking up at her again, "Is this some kind of joke?"

She shrugged, "Arthur was a cynic."

"Brash-headed yank,

Taste-lacking fool,

Grammar's nemesis,

Unrefined dolt,

It's 'colour' not 'color',"

_Says him_, Alfred thought, continuing

"At first sight,

My heart stopped and I thought,

_Idiot,_"

Alfred paused, saying to Alice, "No wonder Arthur hid this. He sucked at poetry. Just saying."

"It gets better," she urged, "Go on."

"Then I met your eyes,

Colours burst into my world,

Light filling my heart,

Driving the darkness into shadows,

I needed you,

I wanted you,

Down in my cold abyss,

Like Hades stealing Persephone,

I craved you,

Your lips..." he skimmed over some. _Not reading that part aloud._ He felt himself blushing. He skipped down ten lines past all of Arthur's carnal desires. _Geez, Artie share your lust with the world!_

"I shut my eyes,

But I could see,

Then I poked my eyes out,

Following Oedipus' lead,

But your heat,

Your light,

Blazed bright in darkness,

I caged your flame,

What if winked out?

But an eagle must soar,

The sun must rise,

My heart must burn,

You were my hero,

My first love,

For all,

Forever,

My gratitude,

Your villain,

Arthur."

Alfred finished. He licked his lips. His eyes stung. "Such crappy poetry," he wise-cracked, but his voice broke and he looked away, vision blurring. He felt Alice touch his arm.

"It's okay. You can let it out."

"I'm not crying," he managed, "And Arthur said I butchered English." And then it hit. A volcano of anger, erupting in side. His hand crumpled the letter, curling into a shaking fist. "That bastard," he muttered, tears dropping from his cheeks. "That fucking bastard!" He yelled toward the cottage where he'd spent so many years. The forest obscured it. "You're a preppy, selfish son of bitch!"

A breeze rattled the trees, violently swaying them.

"Yeah, you heard me!" He yelled. "All that and all I get is some money and a fucking poem! Well fuck you!" He gave the middle-finger." Leaves scattered everywhere, wind throwing them up. A cold breeze smacked his face.

"I should hate him," Alfred said, not looking at Alice. "I should despise him." His expression softened and he wiped his eyes. "But I can't. I'm not him. I don't hold grudges."

He felt her warm fingers on his shoulder and then her palm on his cheek. "It's okay, Alfred. Let it go."

"I wanted to save him." He leaned into her touch. "I cared for him in my own way. Just not the way he wanted."

"Perhaps the way he needed," and he felt into her embrace, feeling a knot unwinding in his heart. "I know in my heart that my brother has found peace."

A warm breeze blew against them and for a moment, the moisture on it reminded Alfred of Arthur's wet kisses.

Somehow, after some time, he left with Alice, hands clasped, not a word said. Yet he knew, something, a spark, was already forming between them. He looked up and in the grey sky saw a patch of blue.

He grinned.

_May you find peace my dear friend._

The End

(**NOTES:** Fem England is actually based on the creator of Hetalia's own designs of Nyotalia (the gender-bent version of Hetalia). So this is based on the canon description that can be found on Hetalia wiki. Technically the author gave her the name Igiko, but the Japanese fandom has unofficially dubbed her Alice Kirkland.

Author Himaruya gives her glasses and she wears her hair in pigtails. This version has no thick pigtails but has the same green eyes and hair color as Arthur. I chose to skip on the British School girl outfit though.)

(And Arthur sucks at poetry because I suck at poetry. The characters poetic skills are only as good as the authors.)

(**ATTENTION! **That's it. This is the end of Alfred's part in the story, but this is not the entire end. For those still interested, there are two more parts involving Arthur's side in events.

There is **_Special Update 1 - _** **Peeping Tom** - This is told from Arthur's POV of his and Alfred's first time together.

Afterward is **SU #2 - The Cottage ** - This takes place five years after the epilogue. Here's the blurb for it:

_One night, Peter, a traveling salesman for Sealand Co., gets caught in a freak storm and finds himself at a cottage where a man named Arthur offers him shelter for the night. There's something strange about the pale Arthur and the house. Arthur smells strange like something that's crawled out of a grave..._


	13. Peeping

(Warning: Some explicit situations)

Peeping Tom

"I wanted it to be special," Arthur explained, sitting in a cushioned-chair, legs wide. His pants were neatly folded on a table beside him along with his briefs. He rested his chin on his palm, maintaining an impassive expression. Keep calm. "Now touch it."

Alfred, currently knelt between his legs, looked clueless. Arthur sighed, taking Alfred's hand he placed it on his own cock. He muffled a whimper. Oh this is better than my fantasy's. He'd waited so long. "Move your hand up and down. Surely, you've masturbated before."

"Myself," Alfred admitted. He slid his hand from the base to the tip. Arthur's toes curled and his hips twitched. He was hard in an instant. "Artie, yo-"

"Don't stop." I've waited too long. They'd finally moved Arthur's cottage in England. He'd been practically dying waiting for this day. Alfred stroked again and Arthur cried out. I won't last long. He started crunching numbers through his head and old poetry.

Alfred jerked him off faster and just as he was about to cum, he yanked Alfred's hand off. "What?" Alfred said.

Arthur panted and gasped, "Not yet. Your mouth."

"Wow, no," Alfred said, looking a little horrified.

"That's an order," Arthur warned, filled with images of Alfred deep-throating him. Gripped Alfred's head, fingers weaving through those golden strands, he pulled Alfred's mouth toward him. "Hurry."

Alfred relented, opening his mouth, he licked once. Arthur shuddered and almost came. He threw his head back. "More," he urged and shoved Alfred down, pushing himself into that mouth. "Oh," he moaned. "Tongue." He hummed in delight, feeling it touch his pulsing member. "Good. Like that," he grated.

_Is Alfred enjoying this?_

His brain was too fogged with lust to noticed. He felt those lips pressing against the base then slid up, almost to the tip. In and out. He tensed, ready to spill his see all over that face.

_No. Not today._

He pulled Alfred off, a trail of saliva connected Alfred's lower lip to Arthur's member. "Bed," Arthur whispered, pulling Alfred's collar as he half-dragged him to the bed. He grabbed a bottle of oil from the nightstand. "Lay down." He'd already told Alfred to take his cloths off.

_This will be perfect. Our night._

"Lay on your stomach."

Alfred did so, throwing one worried look over his shoulder, he turned away. Arthur saw him grip the sheet and make a noise when Arthur squirted some oil on two fingers and pushed them in.

Alfred grunted, but said nothing. "You'll love this. I promise," Arthur said.

OOO

Arthur loved it. He pounded hard into Alfred, until Alfred's face was pressed deep into the bedding. He lost himself in that warm heat.

_So tight._

Alfred's back and cheeks were flushed and sweaty.

_Close._

Arthur cried out and pulled out at the last moment, his seed tumbling out over Alfred's back. He panted and fell on his side next to Alfred whose faced the other way.

"How was it my love?"

"Good," Alfred said, not looking at him.

"Face me," Arthur said, frowning.

Alfred slowly turned over, giving that usual grin. But there was something missing in it. _What is it?_

"Are you all right?"

"Great, Artie," Alfred replied.

_There's no love in his eyes_, Arthur realized, his heart sinking. I forced this on him. He felt a wave of shame. No, he'll learn. Arthur would Alfred. He won't have a choice but to love me.

Arthur wince. Pain shot through his stomach. _What was that?_

He curled into a ball and sobbed against Alfred's shoulder. "Hey, you okay Artie?" Arthur continued to bury his face in that warmth. Alfred is my only escape from this darkness. _He'll love me in time._

He repeated the mantra in his head, pressing against Alfred. He felt himself harden. _I need him. I won't let him go._

**Note**

This update was hard to write. I somehow didn't feel comfortable writing this scene and yet I felt it fit the story. :/ For those still interested in the story:

The Cottage will be released on September 15th.

This update was short the next is over 3,000 words.


	14. The Cottage

(**Warning: Strong Language)**

"No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality."

- Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

The **Cottage**

"Motherfucker! Peter cried, shaking his fist at the sky. The downpour had turned into a deluge. _Did God turn on the faucet or what?_ "You won't beat me, you jerk-st-"

A smack of wind sprayed droplets in his mouth. Coughing and sputtering, he slipped in a puddle and fell to one knee, muddy water soaking into the left leg of his brown khakis. "Fuck!"

Another gust tore his hood off, letting rain pelt his light-brown hair. Yanking the hood of his blue raincoat back on, he stood up, mumbling and sneezing. Water dripped from the tip of his nose.

He jumped at a flash of lightening. It lit up the dark, tree-lined road; thunder followed, shaking rain loose from the leaves. _My cell phone doesn't work. Freak storm shows up!_ _I'm officially in a nightmare!_

Peter's rental had broken down and, like an idiot, he'd decided to walk back to town. _Now I'm lost, ankle-deep in mud, wet grass, and misery._ "Where the hell am I?" He blinked rapidly to keep rain out of his eyes.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he stopped under a large oak and reached under his coat. Unzipping the waterproof pocket of his sea-green fanny pack, he pulled out his flashlight and map. He clicked on the light, holding it with his teeth, and had just unfolded the map when a blast of wind tore it away.

He watched it vanish into darkness and thickets. "SON OF A BITCH!" He screamed, stamping in fury. "Here take this too!" He threw the flashlight away, instantly regretting it as it smashed into the oak's trunk and went out. The night became absolute.

"Peter, you fucking idiot-jerk!" He yelled, feeling around the oak's roots. He found pieces. _It's useless._ He placed his back against the oak and slid down until his butt rested on the soaked turf.

Hot tears pricked his eyes and ran down his cheeks, mixing with the cold rain. _I could be in a room with a hot shower and a warm bed right now._ He'd come here on personal business and to tell about his wonderful Sealand Company.

_Sealand._

His apartment sat on top of the headquarters of his beautiful company. Placing his face in his palms, he shut his eyes and wept. _I wanna go home. I want my chair._ He often sat in his favorite chair on the balcony of his home, overlooking the sea. Sometimes seagulls perched nearby and he'd feed them breadcrumbs.

"You're lost, idiot," he admitted.

A movement in the corner of his vision made him look up. He rubbed his eyes, squinting. Deep in the forest, somewhere in its dark heart, shined a light.

_A house?_ Hope crept into his heart and he rose to his feet. _Thank God! Civilization!_

Half-stumbling, half running, he cut a path through the forest. _First thing I want is hot cocoa. A warm fire._ _Sealand._ He tripped on a thicket, yelping, he fell into a wide clearing before the source of the light. A two story, shingle-roofed house, its second story jutted out over the wooden front door. Grimy windows, their panes in square shapes, were on either side of the door and on the second floor above. Moss covered half its exterior.

Brushing off wet leaves and twigs, Peter straightened his clothing, went to the door, and, seeing no doorbell, rapped on it. After a couple minutes, he did so again. He was just turning to search around the house when the door swung open to reveal a taller man in a gray sweater vest.

_Those eyebrows_. Peter then corrected the thought to _that eyebrow._ The man scowled and Peter forced himself to stop staring.

The man raised his lantern, glass encased its wax candle, the light made his eyes appear yellow-hued. "May I help you?" his words punctuated by a sharp crack of thunder.

"My car broke down," Peter explained, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "And I got lost. The name's Peter Kirkland."

"I'm Arthur Kirkland."

"Wow! We share the same last name?" Peter laughed, adding, "Maybe I'm your long-long twin!" The man looked unamused. _Sheesh, can't take a joke? What a jerk._

"Come inside," the man said, stepping aside. "No one should be in this foul weather. You look dreadful."

_Yeah and you look like a bouquet of roses. You're practically as pale as cottage cheese!_ Peter almost retorted, instead muttering, "Thanks." He entered, the man shutting the door behind him. "I thought I was done for 'til I saw your light."

"Light? Oh that. Yes, it often guides lost souls here," Arthur said, his voice distant. Peter quirked an eyebrow. _Is he being figurative?_ Arthur gestured at a coat hanger in the corner. "Your coat is sopping wet. You can leave it there."

"Thanks," Peter said, unbuttoning the front and shrugging the coat off. "At least my clothes are still fairly dry."

"You must be hungry. I have soup," Arthur said, heading for an opening to another room. The lantern's light threw his shadow long over the floor of the entryway and staircase that hugged half its wall. Oaken floorboards creaked with each step he made.

"Thanks, but I'd really like to call the company about my rental," Peter said, eyeing an old dial phone on a nightstand by the stair landing. _Dial phone? What dinosaur uses that?_

He was already reaching for it when Arthur said, "Power is out as are the phones."

_Damn._

Peter's gaze went up, as if called, to a large portrait above where the stairs turned left and disappeared into the second floor. A flash of blue lightening revealed an oil painting of a blonde man with glasses. Rain and wind pelted the glass window. The trailing shadows of the droplets distorted the man's grin, transforming it to a grimace.

_A relative?_

"Coming?" Arthur asked, "It's not good to linger in the dark."

"Er, right," Peter said, turning to join Arthur when something snagged his foot. He caught himself on the floor and glanced over his shoulder. _What tripped me? A loose floorboard?_

"Careful."

_The planks look in place._ Leaning closer, Peter noticed a stain in the wood. _Is it water from where my coat dripped?_

Arthur's light faded as he left the room. "Hey wait!" Peter cried, crawling to his feet. He stayed in the light, the edge of the shadows chasing his feet. _That jerk!_

After passing through a drawing room, Peter only able to see a little of a sofa and a brick hearth, they entered the kitchen. A wooden island split it and dominated the black and white tiled flooring. An iron stove with a kettle and a pot, ladle sticking out of it, stood at the back against the room's brick wall. Coal embers glowed a dying red behind the oven's grill.

Arthur set the lantern on the island and gestured at a rickety stool. "Sit. Please. I'll fix tea."

"Er, sure." _Thanks for asking_, Peter grumbled in his head. "Is it hot?"

"The electricity went out just as the kettle was boiling," Arthur said, pulling an apron off a hook on the wall.

Peter clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from snickering. _Are those pink frills?_ _Is it his wife's?_ Peter thought of the light in the second floor window. The house shuddered, wind and rain pounding it. The walls seemed to moan with each blow.

"Lucky you heard me over this," Peter commented.

"I was waiting," Arthur said, taking two white porcelain teacups and their saucers out of the cabinet above. He placed then on the counter, his back remaining to Peter.

"For me?"

"For the postman." Arthur put a matching bowl down as well.

"A little late for him, isn't it?"

Arthur shrugged. "Would you like some cold pea soup? It's leftover."

Peter's stomach growled as if answering for him. "I guess that's a yes. Soup sounds wonderful. I could eat a pony right now."

Arthur chuckled. "And how do you like your tea?"

"Two cubes of sugar."

"No milk?"

"Bleh, no thanks."

"Alfred liked milk," Arthur sighed, "I mocked him for it, but now I find it quite endearing."

"Who's Alfred?"

"He was my lover," Arthur said, picking up the kettle with an oven mitt. He poured it into the cups, Peter could hear the liquid sloshing in.

"Lover?" Peter processed that and blurted out, "You're gay?"

"Does that offend you?" Arthur's tone seemed frostier. "You can take your chances in the storm if you like."

"No, no. I'm fine here. Doesn't bother me a bit. Just surprised is all. Is...er... he here now?" Peter looked up, remembering the light in the second floor. _That's what I saw._

"No, he doesn't live here anymore." Arthur ladled soup into the bowl. "We aren't together anymore."

"Sorry to hear that. His loss."

"And my twin sister's gain."

_Twin?_ Peter remembered his earlier comment. _Idiot!_ "He dumped you for her? That must sting."

"Not as much as I thought it would," Arthur said, turning around, he carried a wooden tray over. "Careful. The tea's hot." Arthur set a cup before Peter, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a bowl of soup.

"You knew they'd get together? So Alfred wasn't gay?" Peter said, grabbing a spoon that Arthur offered and slurping up the soup. _So hungry._ Some dribbled down his chin.

Arthur clicked his tongue and, opening a drawer, pulled out a napkin and handed it to Peter who wiped his chin. With a heavy sigh, Arthur said, "I have friends. Good friends. I've seen them since as far back as I can remember," Peter's confusion must've shown because Arthur added, "the type only I can see."

"Oh." Peter felt his eyebrows shoot up. _Oh my._

"I'm not mad. I thought I was once, but now I know they're real."

"Oh."

Arthur sighed again. "I know you don't believe me. Alfred never did either."

Peter picked up his tea cup and blew on it. _Don't be alarmed. Don't let it show on your face. _"S'kay. I had imaginary friends too when I was young. One of mine was named Big Jerk."

Arthur rubbed his temples. "One of my friends could read the future."

"Uh-huh," Peter took a sip. He winced as the hot liquid burned his tongue, but swallowed anyway.

"Her name was Bellflower and I went to her - just before I'd leave for the States."

"Oh, you lived there?"

"For a time," Arthur explained, "Bellflower told me I'd meet a man. A hero I'd fall for."

"Alfred?"

"At first, I met someone else who looked like him. But when I met the real Alfred, I knew. I also knew he'd never be mine."

"But you were together, right?"

"An illusion. I never truly had him. Bellflower tried to warn me. He was destined for my sister. So I attempted to ensure they never saw each other, not even a photo. But their destiny was too strong..."

"So they hooked up?"

Arthur's grimaced. "I wouldn't use that term, but yes. They met not far from here."

"Wait, you saw it?" Peter could tell.

"I don't remember how I got there, but I stood at the edge of the tree line, observing them from afar." Peter shivered, conjuring an image of Arthur hiding in bushes, glaring at the young lovers. _Eerie._ "Seeing them together didn't hurt like I thought it would. I felt... happy," Arthur said, a hint of smile on his lips. "Alfred smiled for her in a way he never did for me. And I realized, the two people I adored most were happy."

Peter took another gulp of soup. _Very flavorless._ "So you live here alone?"

"My friends visit." _Ah, right. His imaginary friends._ "And sometimes others come. Like this Russian fellow. He seems lost and always says he's looking for his sisters."

"A Russian? Just wandering around here?"

"Only when it snows," Arthur replied, his eyes taking on a distant look. "I feel like I knew him once. Sometimes I can almost remember his name, but it's fuzzy."

"I'd call the police. He's probably a vagrant."

The shadows quivered, the house groaning as the winds howled louder. _What was that?_ Peter looked around, feeling like a moth fluttering around in the belly of a beast. _Why do I feel so uneasy?_

"Memories of Alfred are clear as a bell, but everything else is vague. Like pieces of my life are cloaked in fog." _Does Arthur have Alzheimer's?_ Peter wondered. "Here comes the B-52 bomber," Arthur chuckled.

"Huh?"

"Ah, forgive me, Just something Alfred used to say."

"I see," Peter said, forcing himself to laugh. He set down the spoon and yawned, stretching his arms. "Must be that storm, but I feel exhausted."

"Would you like to stay here 'til morning? The upstairs bed is free."

"That'd be great." Peter did feel sleepy. His eyes had begun to droop and he yawned again, this time involuntary.

"This way," Arthur said, tossing his apron on the island and picking up the lantern.

Peter followed Arthur back to the entryway, their footsteps echoing loudly. _Somehow louder than the storm. _Arthur was already three steps up when something caught Peter's foot and he spilled forward, grabbing the banister.

"Sorry," he mumbled, wide-eyed and glancing around. _The same spot._

"Careful," Arthur warned, heading upstairs, "The shadows are deceptive."

Peter frowned, but hurried up. As Arthur's lantern passed by the painting from earlier, Peter saw it more fully even in the dingy lighting. "Wait," he said, "Is that Alfred?"

Arthur paused, but did not look back. "It is. And it was quite a feat getting him to stay still enough to paint that."

"You made it?" Peter was impressed. _Way better than my stickmen._

Arthur nodded and stepped onto the second floor landing. They went down a long oak hallway to an ajar door that light leaked out of. "The room is untidy, but the bed is made. Sheets are clean. I was looking for something earlier and left my other lamp up here." Arthur pushed the door open, but did not enter. "It's yours for the night."

"Thanks." Peter blinked in surprised. A four poster bed with a dark red canopy dominated the room. A nightstand sat next to it and a cushioned chair. On the opposite side was the window, lacy curtains were tied back and on the sill sat a lamp with oil burning in it. "It's lovely."

"Alfred left his PJs. I can get them for you."

"Ah, that's okay. I'll sleep in my clothes," Peter said.

"Suit yourself." Arthur tapped on an oak door to his right in the hallway. "This is the loo if you need it. Have a good night." Then he left.

_That's it?_

Peter shook his head and shut the door, relieved to have privacy. The light was low in the lantern. _It'll go out soon._ He wondered what Arthur was looking for. Rounding the bed, he found his answer.

The other side had six stacks of books all neatly arranged and within reach of the bed. _It's like a little library._ A clipboard with a paper clipped on top sat on one of the stacks. Crouching down, Peter found more under the bed and a game of chest.

He slid the wooden board out, motes of dust stirring, he sneezed and coughed. Cobwebs covered the pieces. _Geez, who last played this? Alfred?_ He suspected so.

He frowned and bent lowering, spotting the corner of a paper hanging from the underside of the bed. Peter reached under and pulled out a sketchbook. The pages were yellowed and most of the drawings were charcoal, all signed by Arthur in his curvy signature. Peter flipped through them.

_Fairies, unicorns,_ _and..._

He paused on one. A man with glasses was drooped against a chair, his eyes shut and his expression serene. There was a sad, troubled downturn to his eyebrows though. _Alfred. Did Arthur sketch him while he slept?_

_This must be Arthur's room. I'm staying in Arthur's bed._ The thought perturbed him, but a crack of thunder reminded him he had few options. Beyond a musty smell, the bed looked fine. A quilted bedspread neatly folded over it.

As he flicked through the last of the sketchbook, a photo fell out. A crease ran down its middle and its edges were water-stained. There were stains in the middle. _Teardrops?_ The photo featured Arthur leaned against Alfred, a faint smile on his lips. Alfred had an arm slung over Arthur and was grinning. Alfred's other hand extended out of the photo, a sign Alfred had taken the picture.

Dappled sunlight splashed light and shadow across their features. The nook of an oak could be seen in the corners.

Peter turned the photo over and read a scrawled, messy hand-writing:

_Yo Artie,_

_ Dood, bitchin' picnic right? Told ya, ya should get out more. Get a bitchin' tan complexion like me. _

_- Your Hero,_

_ Alfred._

Several words had been crossed out and corrected in red ink. Commas had been added. _Arthur corrected Alfred's writing_, Peter thought in wry amusement.

Tucking everything back in its place under the bed, Peter looked at the books. All were flat, worn, and about to fall apart as if they'd been read many times. One in particular lay open and flat on the floor. The title was: _The Haunting of Hill House._ Examining it, Peter found a page had been torn out. The one on the clipboard.

He leaned over and, in the dimming light, noticed one sentence underlined on the page in black ink. The line had been drawn so straight that either someone used a ruler or had been very anal. _Arthur?_ The underlined sentence read:

_"All I could think of when I got a look at the place from the outside was what fun it would be to stand out there and watch it burn down." _

The light of the lamp darkened and went out, leaving Peter in blackness. He peered around the room, shivering. _I'd better sleep._ The sooner morning came, the better. The storm was beginning to fade, the wind and thunder receding. He crawled into bed and snuggled under the thick covers.

_This place creeps me out._

He felt like he was in grave.

_Don't think that._ He yelled in his head, throwing the covers over his head. _You'll wake soon! _

Somehow, despite the adrenaline rush, Peter drifted off...

OOO

Fingernails raking across the oak, he crawled, lifting a hand for the door. "Please," he managed, choking on his own blood. He tasted iron in his mouth. It dribbled from his lips, his nostrils, and his every orifice.

His vision blurred, the door becoming fuzzy.

"A little longer," he begged. _I want to hear the postman pick it up. I'm waiting for that."_

"Now, now. Time's up Arthur," chuckled a low voice. He stiffened, his blood going cold.

"You," Arthur wheezed.

"We had a deal."

"You lied," Arthur gurgled, tears stinging his eyes. _About everything._

His gaze shifted enough to see those sandaled-feet, but he couldn't raise his eyes higher. _You're a devil, _he wanted to say.

"I'm...still...waiting," Arthur gasped. His vision tunneled. Everything went dark.

_Alfred._

_OOO_

Peter tumbled out of bed, hitting the cold, oak floor hard. He blinked in shock, staring at the floor. _What was that?_

The first thing he realized: Peter had been huddled in a fetal position before he tumbled off. The second thing: A lingering cold in his back.

A terrifying thought entered his mind: _Was someone laying next to me?_

His body's every sense screamed, "yes". But his mind refused to believe it. _You're being silly. Letting a dream get to you._ He took in a sharp breath and lifted himself up, turning his head toward the bed. He sighed in relief. _Empty._

_See. No one was there_, he told himself, standing up. Early morning sunlight filtered through the dusty air. He paused, his eyes widening. On the pillow and bed next to where he'd laid was an indent. Like...

He grabbed his fanny pack off the floor and snapped it on. Not wasting a moment, he threw open the door and skipped the toilet, he headed for the stairway. _Just in your head,_ he thought.

And yet it lingered, a feeling that someone _had_ been pressed against him.

"Arthur?" He called, but his voice faltered. The house seemed different in daylight. Darker as if the light made the shadows more menacing. "Arthur?" He practically whispered, gripping the banister as he descended the rickety stairs. Peter felt like an invader in this place.

Summoning what courage remained, he called, "Arthur?"

His anxiety grew and he cared less and less about finding Arthur. All he craved was to be out of this house. His imagination had become pregnant with horror, teaming with images of shadows moving and shifting just on the edge of his vision. His eyes darted everywhere, trying to watch all around.

Breath quickening, he clapped a hand over his mouth, muffling a cry. His knuckles went white as his hand gripped the railing.

_No, NO!_ _It can't be!_

But at the bottom of the stairs where he'd tripped twice last nice was a dark red stain. Memories of his dream flooded him, drowning him in its reality.

_Fingernails raking across the oak..._

He remembered that vividly. The scratch marks were clear as day.

He snapped and not caring about his raincoat or anything. He leaped over the stain, sailing over it, he landed by the door. Ripping it open, a smell filled his nostrils. _Rot._ A cold draft kissed his nape and something whisked by it. Like claws. _Slender fingers._

He threw himself out, landed on the wet stone of the path, picked himself up and bolted down a path that he'd not noticed last night. It curved sharply right. The path was large enough for a small car.

Finally, when the house was out of sight he slowed, catching his breath. His lungs felt on fire. "You idiot," he pressed his knuckles against his forehead. "Letting yourself get spooked." He shook his head. _And giving up a perfectly good raincoat._

But he didn't turn back. He headed down the dapple-shaded road, the air was fresh and scented with pollen. _Ah Spring._

He sneezed.

_I hate it._

Birds chirped everywhere and roses bloomed along the roadside. By the time it intersected with the road, he felt like it'd all been a dream. He'd convinced himself of that.

_Need to find my car. Maybe walk the rest of the way into town._

He had just turned onto it when he spotted a postman, brown satchel slung over his left side, heading up the road. He raised a thick brown eyebrow at Peter.

_I was waiting for the Postman_. Peter shuddered, remembering Arthur's words.

They passed each other, Peter slowed though, glancing over his shoulder. Sure the postman would turn and head up the path. When he skipped it, Peter halted. Frowning, he shouted, "Hey, you missed a house!"

The postman glanced at Peter, but continued on. "Hey! Peter shouted again, marching over. "You can't just skip someone."

The postman stopped, turning around. "Sir, are you speaking to me?"

"Of course. Arthur Kirkland's up there waiting for you," Peter said, pointing at the path.

The postman laughed. "No one's up there waiting for me. Arthur's been dead for five years." Peter felt like stone. "He died up there at the foot of the stairs. They say Alfred."

"Alfred?"

"Yeah, this sunny fellow with glasses. He found Arthur. Heard he was almost inconsolable afterwards. They say there was so much blood ole' Arthur practically floated in it. Never knew he was sick. He never looked sick, but he did stop leaving his house several years back."

"You're lying," Peter said. _You're a devil_, those words floated back from his dream. "I was at the cottage."

The postman chuckled. "Sure you were."

"I was!"

"Uh-huh," The postman rubbed his mustache. "I have deliveries to make so-."

"The Kirkland Cottage is there!" Peter screamed, pointing at the path. "The man needs you."

"Okay," the man sighed, pointing at the path, "Right up there?"

"Yeah."

"Lad, there's nothing up there but ruin. The cottage burned down five years ago. Magistrate concluded some punk kids must've done it."

"No," Peter said, shaking his head. "I stayed up there!"

"Then you slept in an ash-heap. Now if you'll excuse me. I have letters to deliver. Good day to you sir."

A chill wind blew against Peter, rustling the grass around him. The path somehow seemed darker.

_Don't._

Yet his feet moved as if by their own will. He had to see. Had to know. With each step, the air felt thicker and his heart pounded louder as if it would burst from his chest. Arthur's words echoed in his head, _I'm still waiting._

Peter rounded the bend. His mind went blank. "No," he whispered, sinking to his knees. "It can't be."

Grass had sprouted through gaps in what had once been a stone path leading to it. The house itself was nothing but a shell of burnt-out brick, charred timber, and broken glass. One of the upstairs wall had survived enough that its broken window resembled the empty socket of a skull in Peter's mind. He thought of one laying askew on the hinge of its own jaw. Moss hard grown over everything as if the Earth was reaching up to reclaim the cottage.

His eyes raked over the disrepair, absorbing what he saw. Then he felt it. A chill air touched his nape. Hairs rose. Then he smell it like something reeking of the grave. A fetid breath that ticketed his ear. Time seemed to stop, his eyes widening at a second shadow standing behind his own.

"I'm still waiting," Arthur crooned.

Peter screamed, whirling around onto his back, his butt scraping the grass. He saw nothing. _Nothing!_ He shrieked in his mind. Scrabbling onto his feet, he tore off down the path. His feet tangled and he spilled forward, skinning his palm and knee.

_I see nothing! Nothing!_

He ripped up grass by the roots as he yanked himself up. He ran, never looking back, haunted by those words.

_I'm still waiting._

Some part of him knew there was one more.

_Alfred. _

**_NOTE:_**

_And there it ends, our duet. No more waits. But unlike a wasted life, a good story can be revisited. Turn back to the beginning and everything resets to zero. While the events cannot be altered, they can be experienced anew. _

_Should you ever find this longing upon you, simply go back and let the loop unfold once more..._

_I leave you with one final quote from _"The Haunting of Hill House":

"Within, walls continued upright, brick met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone."


End file.
